The night has fallen. Free to hunt again.
Deep are the shadows under the orange Moon.
Black is the panther that quivers under the skin.
Blood foams in my nostrils.
Splashing, water lures from afar.
Whose sinewy neck awaits the deadly kiss of jaws tonight?
Will the fight be long? Passionate? Artistic? Strong?
I’m gonna miss you at dawn, baby.
Faraway, faraway I’ll have to ride,
in deepest abysses I’ll have to hide
or the sun’s rays will scatter my ashes.
I’ll love you from the innermost sanctuary,
the very centre of being.
A dear memory of you will be buried
in my intestines.
Quick: I have to sharpen my nails, ... teeth!
Last glance at my reflection in the pond.
Here I come, beloved, foretold victim of tonight.
Your body tenses with incomprehensible excitement.
But you don’t know yet.
Go cherish your pastures for the last time.
Dream of your unconceived younglings.
This is the Day of Doom, sweetheart,
sweetspleen, sweetbrains ...
Go dance under the coppery light.
Embitter not your liver tonight. See you soon!
EURYDICE’S LOVE
As Narcissus, thou art son of a muse.
And to them thou singest.
Pestilence, but, torments the city,
as once in Oran.
It shall not be long and I will have
to follow Lenore,
sent to me in an eddy of fireflies,
cloaked with a mantle of darkness.
The only thing I am to await
is that the chain-like inevitability of fates
bring thee forth, Orpheus.
To redeem me with a cherubic miracle of sounds,
produced in the joints of thy fingers,
in the coils of thy pharynx,
in the curves of the diaphragm,
showing so beautifully on thy torso.
To take me to life again.
To eschew turning back
too early
in the horror
of the inverted womb of the tunnel.
For, if thou freest me not, wherefore the Sun,
wherefore thine harp
in the most elevated of the houses of the Lord,
before beasts silenced and universe petrified?
Thou singest to them, Orpheus.
And that is seemly.
Bad blood, however, corrodeth my body,
Persephone herself made me a bed beneath her throne.
All for thy sake.
For she knoweth that thou shalt come. Even twice.
She knoweth that thou shalt not
stand over the shell asleep
when Charon rows me to the door.
»And what didst thou do in Summer?«
termites that suck the marrow of our passions shall ask thee.
»I sang.«
»So, dance now!«
If thou wouldst only
not turn back,
Orpheus!
If only thine æsthetical curiosity,
stronger even
than thy yearning for me,
would not force thee into disobedience,
unpardonable to children of Light.
But who hath the right
to obliterate the legend
of those who are yet to come
in our stead?
TO MY PARAMOUR DU JOUR
I am a prostitute and a virgin,
silk shredded to rags,
tulip grown bitter,
mirror of the void.
My indigo lids, drowsy.
My henna-dyed hair, shiny with spikenard oil.
My nails crimson with the life force of the victims.
I am a whore dwelling in the shrine’s courtyard.
You want to love me — you pay your price.
Not that I want to earn from you;
it’s your wilful deprivation,
your sacrifice
that I yearn for.
You want to like me?
— Give away your job.
Want to worship me?
— Sell your home
and throw ducats in the ocean,
at midnight, off the shores of Deadman’s Island.
Send away your spouse,
cast away your life savings,
drown the kittens of your worldly desires,
shed your Armani suit
and come naked and empty-handed
under the moonbeams.
Then I may choose to love you,
while your passion devours my mystery.
Or I may well not.
Cruelty, you say?
— But, haven’t I told you all in advance?
And still something allured you,
the murky glimmer of the dead stone amidst the embers,
the altar in the cave,
where water has been dripping incessantly,
since the dawn of æons
and shall continue to drip
for æons to come.
I am a slut by nature,
gifted with a refinement you shall never dare comprehend.
I am the essence of (your) being,
your most profound desire.
And you are but a temporary reference in my value system,
a short-lived distraction.
I am your inevitable fate,
infallible utmost achievement,
and you are but fuel for my lantern,
while I am the Reason for the Universe.
You desire me more
than you love your soul,
your well-being and all transitory knowledge.
The charm works again.
You may approach now,
ephemeral one.
THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING (EARNEST)
The night has fallen. Free to hunt again.
Deep are the shadows under the orange Moon.
Black is the panther that quivers under the skin.
Blood foams in my nostrils.
Splashing, water lures from afar.
Whose sinewy neck awaits the deadly kiss of jaws tonight?
Will the fight be long? Passionate? Artistic? Strong?
I’m gonna miss you at dawn, baby.
Faraway, faraway I’ll have to ride,
in deepest abysses I’ll have to hide
or the sun’s rays will scatter my ashes.
I’ll love you from the innermost sanctuary,
the very centre of being.
A dear memory of you will be buried
in my intestines.
Quick: I have to sharpen my nails, ... teeth!
Last glance at my reflection in the pond.
Here I come, beloved, foretold victim of tonight.
Your body tenses with incomprehensible excitement.
But you don’t know yet.
Go cherish your pastures for the last time.
Dream of your unconceived younglings.
This is the Day of Doom, sweetheart,
sweetspleen, sweetbrains ...
Go dance under the coppery light.
Embitter not your liver tonight. See you soon!
EURYDICE’S LOVE
As Narcissus, thou art son of a muse.
And to them thou singest.
Pestilence, but, torments the city,
as once in Oran.
It shall not be long and I will have
to follow Lenore,
sent to me in an eddy of fireflies,
cloaked with a mantle of darkness.
The only thing I am to await
is that the chain-like inevitability of fates
bring thee forth, Orpheus.
To redeem me with a cherubic miracle of sounds,
produced in the joints of thy fingers,
in the coils of thy pharynx,
in the curves of the diaphragm,
showing so beautifully on thy torso.
To take me to life again.
To eschew turning back
too early
in the horror
of the inverted womb of the tunnel.
For, if thou freest me not, wherefore the Sun,
wherefore thine harp
in the most elevated of the houses of the Lord,
before beasts silenced and universe petrified?
Thou singest to them, Orpheus.
And that is seemly.
Bad blood, however, corrodeth my body,
Persephone herself made me a bed beneath her throne.
All for thy sake.
For she knoweth that thou shalt come. Even twice.
She knoweth that thou shalt not
stand over the shell asleep
when Charon rows me to the door.
»And what didst thou do in Summer?«
termites that suck the marrow of our passions shall ask thee.
»I sang.«
»So, dance now!«
If thou wouldst only
not turn back,
Orpheus!
If only thine æsthetical curiosity,
stronger even
than thy yearning for me,
would not force thee into disobedience,
unpardonable to children of Light.
But who hath the right
to obliterate the legend
of those who are yet to come
in our stead?
TO MY PARAMOUR DU JOUR
I am a prostitute and a virgin,
silk shredded to rags,
tulip grown bitter,
mirror of the void.
My indigo lids, drowsy.
My henna-dyed hair, shiny with spikenard oil.
My nails crimson with the life force of the victims.
I am a whore dwelling in the shrine’s courtyard.
You want to love me — you pay your price.
Not that I want to earn from you;
it’s your wilful deprivation,
your sacrifice
that I yearn for.
You want to like me?
— Give away your job.
Want to worship me?
— Sell your home
and throw ducats in the ocean,
at midnight, off the shores of Deadman’s Island.
Send away your spouse,
cast away your life savings,
drown the kittens of your worldly desires,
shed your Armani suit
and come naked and empty-handed
under the moonbeams.
Then I may choose to love you,
while your passion devours my mystery.
Or I may well not.
Cruelty, you say?
— But, haven’t I told you all in advance?
And still something allured you,
the murky glimmer of the dead stone amidst the embers,
the altar in the cave,
where water has been dripping incessantly,
since the dawn of æons
and shall continue to drip
for æons to come.
I am a slut by nature,
gifted with a refinement you shall never dare comprehend.
I am the essence of (your) being,
your most profound desire.
And you are but a temporary reference in my value system,
a short-lived distraction.
I am your inevitable fate,
infallible utmost achievement,
and you are but fuel for my lantern,
while I am the Reason for the Universe.
You desire me more
than you love your soul,
your well-being and all transitory knowledge.
The charm works again.
You may approach now,
ephemeral one.
