"I'm no author", you say, "hence I shouldn't ask
To find shelter in art, in creating being out of naught";
Therefore, I too should disdain every creation of dirt,
Above that - the crop of the battle of material and light,
of non-flesh and spirit;
I should disdain nightingales and larks and winged
poem-chatters
I should disdain the blush of roses and the lucidness of
lilies
I should disdain the lyrical dialogue of lovers in a balcony
under darkness -
Anyhow, they are to die eventually;
I should disdain a weeping harp and hoarsening guitars
And should mercilessly disdain the beauty of silvered moon;
I should also disdain all them hypnotizing bound words
And twice should disdain their binders - yes, I should!
Should disdain Shakespeare, Prust, Allen Poe, Dickinson,
Wilde
Who have always known to sow odes so well, indeed;
I should also disdain the three Jews who knew well to
compose their love
Verily, I should disdain Cohen, Dylan and Reed.

But how could I disdain all that
If disobeying the orders of your kisses I dare not?
My dear, human beings form love in their hearts
And you are the greatest of sinners of that blessed art.




© October 2001