For, Nushki Ten Doeschate
The rain will fall as it fell that day
And leave pink all around the tiles I bled:
“Because I couldn’t
Fuck Jesus, tonight,
I feel myself under a shower” she said.
And “When I bled, VK” she said
Instead of pain what the soul regained
Was mirth; and all ashes of vanity
This life to me has offered, In colours faded, withered:
Crumbled to earth.
“The wet drips down me”, in a
Seamless patter, they slide down your body
In repulsive chatter. Your eyes pass
The point of letting lids, soft fall
And the walls throw back, in whispers, your call.
Your call, in the moment, dulled by the
Dripping drone, pierces the spasms
Of your heart, careworn. The divine memory
You carry; and the diviner that you conjure,
Live off vain lust for him; though he is never reborn.