I’m still here, in a skin
thinner than a dybbuk’s raincoat;
strange as the birds who scrounge,
those stubborn pumps
that bring up nothing…

Maddened by you
for whom the cash register,
with its clerical bells,
is a national church;
you, whose instant smile
cracks the earth at my feet…

May your wife go to paradise
with the garbage man,
your prick hang like a shoelace,
your balls become raisins,
hair grow on the whites of your eyes
and your eyelashes turn
into lawn mowers
that cut from nine to five…

Man is a skin disease
that covers the earth.
The stars are antibodies
approaching, your president
is a tsetse-fly.

1979


 = Daniel Myers