25 years dedication to the virgin
man and boy and never once
had anyone acknowledged it.
*
Can’t you see I’m weary
working all day
for the last half hour
on my thesis the great work
the book of lost arrivals
the library of last resorts
a definitive history of alienations.
*
Not worried not moaning
not whingeing
not whimpering in the corner
demanding one last cigarette
one last whisky in the New Victoria
once again the fandango
under the glitter of the turning dancehall ball
till the musicians dismantle their instruments
crying nobody here is making me an egg sandwich
so who am I?
where am I going?
what am I doing here?
*
Schism, rebellion, grumblings
over coffee, strange alliances,
manifestoes, knives in the dark,
religious upheavals, slander,
fanatics under arms, chance,
palace coups, gossip, non-
aggression treaties, cults,
independence movements, the wind
weaving through the wheat,
client kingdoms, petty republics,
nods to the blind man, winks,
signs under the table, flags,
beasts, bureaucrats, piles,
foreign syndicalist ideas, –
all these bother the emperor.
*
Skin of my hands the colour of cut wood.
Summer over before it began.
Whistle at the heart’s finish,
bottom line at the end
of the cardiograph’s calligraphy.
*
Otherwise the wind is itself,
the birds are.
In the wide space
a woman heaving a basket
home on her shoulder.