Sob Heart

Sob heart, frail man, weak frame

and in the depths regurgitate

foul waters of the mind.

What in this fire is left

save spirit in the mad winds sound?


Hot love, swarthy

cuddling in the nude

passion of blood no more

than animals at rut

the stench of earth to taste.


O heart - seek among the last rose petals

and dust of books decay,

breath in fresh smells

and sing of nakedness

in reeds and sallow bushes.


Astride the tops, crag lifted,

cry aloud for desolation.

Destroy this shuck of life, idea and nation-

leave alone the hill, the sun, the flower

and the tall grass spikelets

rustling in the meadow breeze.