Last Song

Only come, my rain... fall against my face
Yellow street lamps... overturn the houses—­
I don’t want unbroken, smooth roads. 
Now it is lovely... only in the light of street lamps... 
Mary... surrounded with dark rain—­
This is the way it should be.  I would like to be with you. 
What are mountains and the flat land to me—­
What are cities to me and colorful hypnotic nights—­
Back to the ocean... back to the starry shore. 
You are not entirely Mary, whom I sought. 
But you are also Mary—­boundless... 
Beloved... a fool... cursed with longing...

Kuno’s Nocturne

Every day, when it gets so very dark
That I can read no more,
I walk along the street singing,
Look at every girl... 
Whether perhaps—­who knows—­
Today of all days a miracle will take place: 
That I shall come home redeemed,
Peaceful and forever free... 
From such pursuits I come back
To the house tired and confused,
I know a secret remedy
That can extinguish all suffering—­

Going for a Walk

Evening comes with moonshine and silky darkness. 
The roads become weary.  The narrow world widens. 
Winds of opium move in and out of the field. 
I widen my eyes like silver wings. 
I feel as though my body were the whole earth. 
The city lights up:  thousands of street lamps sway. 
Now the sky also piously enkindles its candlelight.
...  Huge above everything my human face wanders—­

Ash Wednesday

Yesterday I still went powdered and addicted
Into the many-colored sounding world. 
Today everything has long since drowned. 
Here is a thing. 
There is a thing. 
Something seems like this. 
Something seems otherwise. 
How easily someone blows out
The whole flowering earth. 
The sky is cold and blue. 
Or the moon is yellow and flat. 
A forest has many individual trees. 
There’s nothing more to cry about. 
There’s nothing more to scream about. 
Where am I—­

The Son

Mother, don’t hold me,
Mother, your caress hurts me,
See through my face,
How I glow and wane. 
Give the last kiss.  Let me go. 
Send a prayer after me. 
That I broke your life,
Mother, forgive me.

To Frida

(Dedicated to L.L.)

Walls separate us. 
Strange spider webs. 
But I often fly, gaunt in my sinking
Hand wringing room, a bleeding chirping twit. 
If only you were there. 
I am so murdered. 
Frida.

Lonely Watchman

City and beloved are far behind. 
I am so betrayed and alone. 
Slowly I move from one
Leg to the other. 
Around me strange doors screech. 
I reach for dagger and gun. 
Ah, if I were only at home
With my mother.