Pluck the monster’s eyes, says I,
Those raunchy eyes that narrowed down
With a stiff-knot round the heart
Your brother to his pesky, stocking flaws;
As you filled up the cookie-moulds
With plight and scorn, they always knew…
Sad-ways piled up sad-words
If just to excuse your torn-up joy,
If just to insist that all must hurt.
Better swallow what’s bygone and bend.
So that set anew, you’d never swoon,
From the stifling air neighbouring around
The air, the chasm, the tender world.
Stumbling upon all pointy ends,
One may not curse, after all,
And happily clap at the happy sound.
So that someday, all words effaced
You’d give in to a warm embrace, and sing
Their lovely song; play it out and dance,
As loud as you can, all life long.