Dylan Thomas




Cool, Oh No Cool

Cool, oh no cool,
Sharp, oh no sharp,
The hillock of the thoughts you think
With that half-moulded mind I said was yours,
But cooler when I take it back,
And sharper if I break asunder
The icicle of each deliberate fancy.
For when I bought you for a thought, (you cost no more)
How could I smooth that skin
Knowing a dream could darken it,
And the string pulled, some mental doll
Ravage and break,
How kiss, when doll could say
Master, her mouth is sawdust
And her tongue, look, ash,
       Part from her,
       Part from her,
Sweet, automatic me knows best.
But you shall not go from me, creation;
Oh no, my mind is your panopticon;
You shall not go unless I will it
And my thoughts flow so uneasily
There is no measured sea for them,
No place in which, wave perched on wave,
Such energy may gain
The sense it is to have.
You wish to stay my prisoner
Closed in your cell of secret thoughts,
And I, your captor, have my love to keep
From which you may not fly.