Lament for Ferdinand (part 1, possibly)

Expressed by an Amalfitan lunatic


Hell's pompous stillness hugs that bier!

But this is the sole funeral

Too hot for Hell's fine train.

Where are the white pearls, where

The damned girls? they pace

His Eminence's obsequy, I know them,

sure! And daintily they pace;

Women in black like clean

Red robes, so they forget the smirches.


But the Cardinal's brother's assemblage

Is still - myself, my mutt Minos, I doubt

That ducal dower-soul itself;

What about madam Duchess?


No we'll talk of her later. Skirted.

The healthy will never leave her alone.

I want to think about the premature

Ly stinking body, about unhammered

Cobbles. I want to touch the Maltese Cross

That glints where it was left for protocol.


I will redeem my friend the duke!

I'll redeem all my wolf-friends, every moon

Dweller. In Amalfi of amelancholic moods

Tonight is true for every freak in town.

Message Not Wall For Your Honour's Sake

I'm also still up at 12:whatever

Doing an essay. We have yet another

Common bond. Sleep with me

And our essays will magically

Be completed. I await

Your arrival. The radiator is

On and the room is warm

And fuzzy, the Indian wrap is spread out,

The Anne Bronte flung away...

vamos mia pequena

vamos

vale?

To A Severe Damsel, On Not Going To Cowley

Call me not bastard, sweet, nor craven

That from deepest Cowley

Spurning thy bright, expansive haven

To Jericho I flee.


For no new mistress shall I chase,

Nor shall I chase at all,

But read and brood on book of face

And laze from brow to gall.


Do not censure my fickleness,

You too it should adore;

I could not love thee, dear, so much,

Loved I not comfort more.


(after Lovelace)

Starting this notebook; an apology

I didn't really take you in,

Nor think, even, of using you.

Are you my mother's gift or Clem's?

And are you pleased to find your pen?


You child of French Ornate Slim Notes,

You'll find a strange marriage I think.

Here sight fluctuates from the screen,

Here musk disturbs the radio,

Here clouds are oldest warmest friends:

They do not mock as shining things.


And I will grant you many grooms,

Identical, fickle and cheap,

They'll bite your pulp 'till worn out by their gnaw.

You can't rely, though, on these staging rules.


Not even at the start of term -

You will not bear Virginia's annals,

You'll have to learn Conjugia's weird tropes.

We will not learn together.

We'll get on.