there is no pain in suffering
should you know you can teach in song
there is no sin in bluffing
should you know you can right your wong
And there was a gaunt man at the window
his palms were on his knees
his eyes were almost tears
his mouth a halibut
his ears were almost gills
And there was a lady on the still
hand on cheek and still
seemed topaz dyed
Couldnt hear her
her eyes were asking for a favour
Whiskey breath is old now
and years are marked by candles blown
but there is still
a girl on the sill
Baffled man has paused till
And its clear to both of them from time to time
some heads must meet only under the sky
And sometimes generations masturbate themselves to sleep
and generous time will have huffed and puffed
unlearning its patience
Malbenis.. It's a shame,isn't it?
Seems fine to me.
he was a fine man in his youth
Odd faced but solid as rocks
all his women were fine
specimens of a
often the affliction was him
As he grew older though
the woman on the sill never
Malbenis raved in middle age
and loved the people he scared
A common affliction.
She never looked at him different
he bathed forever
in naked splendour
in the pools of her ample eyes
And she smiled on the sill as he banged doors, kicked cats,
drank spluttered and wandered back exhausted.
It took him eighty yeas to
burn through eighty lifetimes
You could love them, you could give them all
You could swing it so they never saw you fall
You could mask yourself with the merriest tune
You could smile your prettiest smile with all the tenderness inside..
But all the lovers that you sought
You're just a soul that they bought
You will never have a home
just an ever-empty room with a hint of sweet perfume
that you caught maybe ten years ago..
So I admit it, I do not know how
to live in a dead head
and an ever empty bed where I got lost forever when you left my hand.
O princess of the plains
Why can't you keep me now?
Every sound is too loud and the limbs don't move anyhow..
A man is at your door and you dream of seven more.
Admit it, you'd rather have him dead .
He came through
valleys and brooks
hours for a glimpse of you
He slept on
a vomit stain
A trash pile
by his brain
But his fate is
stranger still, you were just one danger,
what lies in store?
lover up, for his own good, for ever more.
Whence have you come from, soft children of mine own mind?
Take refuge in my darkness; boughs of roses you will find
atop a breeze, for only what flies can hold up my sentiments.
I stand undressed before glories of natures before me
but thick window-glasses separate me,
Mother, take me. Nurses are not women.
Teats do not satisfy, divinity remains sheathed,
Gory armies till land in my hand as i am fidgeting.
But you! Silly children! Stay and sup to my cooking.
I delight cretins, i was raised by jugglers.
Curious broths escape my kitchen
Rows of running shoes in line make wine.
And i drink! How i drink!
I drink to paintings yet to be painted
I drink to myshkins yet to be tainted
by the blood under the wheel.
The wheel churns mercilessly outside my window to the underworlds,
but the glass repels my bombs.
A flood is imminent; those above shall hear mere whispers
and I will float.