If only I had known sooner, I could have known and learned so much more. But as usual, I only learned about the connection at the end, when all the hidden material folded outwards – all the clumsy lies.
Nothing but a Man
Nothing but a man
let’s execute him against the door.
The morning of taking him away was robed
with the freshness of water;
it would be best to finish him off
against a door of blue wood.
His knees were knees of water
a forehead of oak under the rain.
He told me: ” talk
of this flower dying according to the curve
of a thought,
of oblivion it offers in the shelter of
and of multiplied love”. . .
We shot him against the light
and let hatred rise like baked bread.
Maybe I’ll weep for him.
It was simple in the deep earth