Wingless
my laughing bird
is spilled from
her youthfully
joyful flight.
Soulless
she’s sitting now
in the fruitlessly teared sand
of her cracked glassy cage.
Silently in minor
she’s sobbing
over and over
the same
irrational
desperate
refrain.
In sack and ashes
I……..
am raoming in the city
and steal
the smallest smiles
on ladies’ cheeks
secretly
I…….
am drinking
the seducing gleams
from their moistened lips.
The vaguest sparks
from their shiny eyes
I…….
am catching
and plant them
cautiously
in my almost cooled hearth.
With far too bulging cheeks
I……..blow
and……blow
into the whirling
whitely ashes
longing
more and more
for a little
warming flame.
Opus One 