St Luke's Summer

Smoother skin there is none;
Darker eyes there are none…
And the game is afoot,
The hounds are unleashed.

September sunfire Indians skin;
River’s quicksilver sword
Pierces heart through,
Bleeding passions and perversions.

Let the agony of an hour
Stand for a lifetime,
Soul’s totem,
Mysterious and proud.

What is history
But the madman’s ecstasy?
Behold the unaccomplished,
The unexpressed.

If I knew where the centre was,
I would be there;
Instead, I drift to the margins,
And make them home.

This is my epoch:
The face in shadow,
The forgotten day.
Quintessence:
Exquisite word,
Whose meaning I seek
In unforgiving places.

Let me sink to the bottom:
I belong among the drowned.
Ship, sail on without me
To your promised port.

We drink to sober up,
Ferocious fools,
Extravagantly wishing
For the simplest thing.

I roam among the dead,
Looking for a face
To hold my gaze.

We do not finish loving,
Nor does our love improve.
One just vanishes,
Leaving the chair still warm.

This life is not mine
To fashion and perfect,
Only to battle with,
Breath by breath.

What body does my mind
Desire and deserve?
These words,
Or the autumn earth?

Keep the sweets,
Only give me the bitters.
My tongue knows
What tastes true.

The saddest music
Is the fiercest delight,
Sound of burning houses
And breaking bones.

Because this life is unreal,
I hate and destroy it,
Raging against the idiocy
Of rational minds.

When I die,
Carry me off to the side,
Cover me with a little earth, or burn me,
But save me from the trampling crowd.

Raise your glass and toast again
Blasphemy, obscenity, pain;
Joy we despise
For its simpering folly.

Drunkenness is worship,
Service to the soul;
Wash the world down
With beer and spirits.

Choose darkness,
The better to see by;
I drink for the hangovers
Of the meek and the wise.