One Rose. An amorous harm in every spot
in timeless arms, rejoicing, dreaming
of Eliah. Dreaming of dreams
forever sang, thoughtlessly remembered,
married to bald bold prophets.

Spontaneously remembered. A leaf was fall…
ingratitude! My praise of beauty,
interrupted only by the spoons of sugar,
was meant to be forever in the most
basic circle of eternity.

Two Roses. Glow-worms in gloomy streets
dance – dance. This sounding fog of lights
erupts –

Doubting whether: was it for this
the weather turned so wet,
interlocking needles. Needless,
needless to say:
the lead singer, strumming his cords,
again has drafted, caught in drought,
a higher scheme than his. Again.

Three Roses. These ever-lasting
feelings of perused joy,
disclaimed, mourned, rejected.

Ô Beauté – you always want it all.
O this too, too, called Beauty.
What difference hast thou done to hearts
of hunting harts, haunted houses
by hallowed hosts?

Four flowery creations of paternal Nature.
Nourishing the throats of tired
swearers, smelling but their unrevealed –

O Mind. O my narrow dire
grey matter. My finger has
too often tried, tried
to touch
to feel
to sense my Sense, my uppermost sense.

For, for – for every diamond, I
have touched, a wondrous monster,
startling, started wandering,
stalking to the stars.
There – where ever I see –
it bet its existence.

Shall I come to thee, O lustrous moon?
Shall I find there – where ever
I see – my loosened sense?

Thoughtless I walk. And for every step
I stumble upon
the icy land. – crack.
Farewell. Has put to sea my ship,
harboring my unspoken wishes.


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