DEVIL WITH THE CANDLESTICK
4
As evening comes army of forgotten people go out
for cheap looting
and those smuggled who survived in their houses
and the shadow of the glass on the wall scares them
like a hand that gives alms;
then I was naked in the last row of cinema seats
watching the current events of old wars and someone
suddenly turned off the power
although the bombing continued without audio
cities were ruined noiselessly like in fairy tales
and the lone woman,
in the middle of the road, got a key out of her little
purse and swallowed it
thus she has somewhere to go, in fact I, continuously,
lighted some matches for her;
they threw me out though I climbed up the water pipes
following the limping dog to his heavenly visits
the knife to its sob and
I now leave without leaving any trace of me behind
as if I was a totally haste sundown.
My poor flesh, besieged by arteries, pimps, autumns
always defeated behind the wooden divider;
in a vulva I discovered many empty black bottles,
Dante,
the dead corner ice vendor,
emergency groups running in the darkness though
the phosphoric eyes of the cat constantly stir;
I hated you, whore, so many times that I became a
cemetery of perjuring children and
now with my fingers on your uterus I’ll turn you
inside out
until a luckier number may fall out and this night
passes.
Manolis 