in the end hopefully there's nothing
no clicks no beeps no whir of fans cooling the electronics
no trying to distinguish the melody from the hiss
no unnatural seamless dissolve
something abrupt and final
muffled thump better than an echo
yet better to drown out the sound
if only we could spin and win a trick to be at beck and call
perhaps then we'd resurrect dead friends or join them once for all
our love extinguished, cursed to blight
why can we only hear the song of life
¿en castellano o Español?
what happened to our arctic soul?
did Pinochet's shots switch our poles?
so why the fuck do we stay here?
we're never paralyzed by fear
o here it comes now, truth will out
we're a shouty grouchy beastly lout
and moreover we'll soon be gone
no longer nagging on and on
we wouldn't want to cause a fuss
when we explode in a shower of pus
so there it is we've given up
no longer looking for true love
if we found them they'd be a dove
and we'd spoil it sure enough
Romance would not be near sufficient
to fill a life without leaving it deficient
neither would be someone too efficient
por exemplo if they thrown off by near-rhyme or complex rhythm
in short we don't want anything what isn't
everything of real intimate genius coexistence
six times six is thirty six
black or white or grey or mixed
our only certainty is this
it's all we've had/what we've got left
ev'ry step and ev'ry breath
each blink has left us more bereft
don't tell us who we are again
don't make us ever re-explain:
we are nothing more than pain
Excellent poem.
ReplyDelete