Gracias for your beggars, ubiquitous as fear.
The atonement of hand-washed tiles in the Metro.
For tomatoes, scarlet with passion.
Pocket-size dogs bred from a pinpoint of invisibility.
For plazas of victory and defeat
repeated in your bourgeois streets.
For spare and quiffed shrieks of
Modernity in the spaces set aside.
For nightlife, candle-light, sangria, Juan Gris
and the endearing umbra of the strawberry tree.
Gracias; I won’t return
to taste the smile of someone new
glimpsed in the final kiss you blew.
The last night I spent in London, I took some girl or other to the movies and, through her mediation, I paid you a little tribute of spermatozoa, Tristessa. A late show, a crowded cinema. The drunks all stubbornly remained unmoved and jeered, laughed and catcalled throughout your film though sibilantly hushed by pairs of […]
Love In the Asylum A stranger has come To share my room in the house not right in the head, A girl mad as birds Bolting the night of the door with her arm her plume. Strait in the mazed bed She deludes the heaven-proof house with entering clouds Yet she deludes with walking the […]
Eulogy To A Hell Of A Dame some dogs who sleep At night must dream of bones and I remember your bones in flesh and best in that dark green dress and those high-heeled bright black shoes, you always cursed when you drank, your hair coming down you wanted to explode out of what was […]
We were at the Young Vic yesterday to see Juliet Stevenson as Winnie in Samuel Beckett’s Happy Days. Buried up to her middle in act one, and up to her neck in act two, Winnie is involved in a relentless battle against solitude and silence.