Requiem for a Girl

/, Blesok no. 51/Requiem for a Girl

Requiem for a Girl

Inscriptions at the Centre of Gravity
Starfish
Legacy of Love
Offered Lady
Sesame
Pure Thought (a thought not thinking)
The Chosen

On the fringes of the bloody thought breathes our quiet
silkworm. She comes to us and we come.
No-one nowhere to tell about these blue
blossoms, about these dark treetops, about these
nimble odours, about these simple and hairy
trunks. Through existence the uncounted scarlet
wreaths, through formlessness gradually
all too many purified desires, through
unsuitability, despite the dense ground layer
of imbued anguish, through disorder of the most delicious
climaxes of the same image, scarlet wreaths continue
to drip, offering themselves from the blossoms reaching
into a naked manifestation, clenching its jaws and murmuring about the contradictions in process: so simple for the same
amount of its own simplicity. But this is just
hands turning rugged. But this is just a spell
slithering over bewitchment lower to the door ajar, to make sure
he is not there. But it is true: the sigh sighed,
but this simply means that
the spirit escaped from the bottle. And now
it is captured. Will you ever again guide your hand over your
seedlings? Will you offer your strawberries to everyone,
lest I forget, what remains neither in the memory nor in the bosom, encircled with undulating silence, uttering the holy curse: may your body split in half, may your arm dry up and may the pale curse await you, curse cold, curse consummate: don’t you see!? This is not a bright red song, this not a sun-filled flesh wound, this is not a flame
grown into the trunk. It is a blooming iris, the power of reason,
another seed with a down-cast look seven times.

2018-08-21T17:23:11+00:00 November 27th, 2006|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 51|0 Comments