Fourth Canto
I stitch a leather latch on my door
keeping its serenity from copious
staggering fools laughing
as the ancient lascivious torch is lit
in the bowels of earth and
a battle of Giants reverberates
from one corner to another as
their God with stamina
of youth fights old cunning Death
over the meaning of a life or
a stigma the result being
leaves of grass stiffen against
the north wind and unfold their
satisfaction in sunshine’s arms
yet black velvet of
a hungry phallus climbs from
his subterranean realm to add
a laughing giggle to the lips of
day and turn ever-prosperous
fears to maverick months without
songs eluding to the graveness of this
absurdity and soil negates its
passive resolve to non-involvement
with opera music and spirited
fervor of lovemaking shredding even
the stiffest veil of darkness when
lips of the old woman with the
ironed breast lisps the strange
question and limp penis of
the old man ogling the moon
answers: I can do better
Manolis 