|TO BRING HER CUPS|
There is love for you matron,|
Your smooth white skin,
Like cream, verily, verily, verily.
And your cat, a cat that might ...
Might want to love you for ever,
Ever after, until corpses dance and leap from the tomb.
Now go and pray: you've made love to your boy,
Your Adonis, your Endymion, your Actaeon.
To love you, to be faithful to you in a fashion.
Because the pretty girl surreptitiously, unabashedly,
Embraces black Apollos with white white teeth
At parties, fetes, and celebrations (perhaps on all occasions).
But for a religious tone in which the sacrifice is calfed,
Parted out, vivisected, distributed to gods and priestesses,
The young king requires (besides prose arranged in columns) a simple thing,
To end, finish, kiss oblivion.
|Gregory Arena lives in Bergamo in Northern Italy with his girlfriend and small daughter. When not writing or teaching he likes trekking, cycling, and cross-country skiing. Ages ago he took a degree in English. He has published a fair amount of short stories and poems in Small Press publications and is always interested in feedback.||
The Aabye's Baby Archive
© Gregory Santa Arena, 2001
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This page last updated: 14th December 2006.