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