The Author's Refusal


Fairy boys and books on shelves
I fear the authors will never explain
Treasure chests and soiled papers
No the Author need never explain
I hold the lunacy so close to my heart
Like Cyparissus held his deer
And when at last I spear it with a javelin sharp
I will take root and be strong and weep my milky sap
There is no amour for the author
only paper and hollow drawers
Years of clinging fingers clawing at the scratchy straw
That is harvested by the young men
sun burnt and brown and well fed
Their fingers fat and used to tossing tobacco to the gods
Apollo... Saint Sebastian... Dionysus
O! what a threesome
The Author won't explain
Why should he
He finds the steady rhythm and leaves a mark
A nasty stain
He looks at the cathedrals
He looks at the museums
He wears his Jacket, because the rain is going to come
And he will seduce you
He will stab you with arrows, with javelins, he will guide Paris's bow
And he need never explain

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