The day
spun away from me
World
cup flashes and baby runs
Holding
to the last echo
Of your
memory
The fading
sense of loving you
So I
hate it all now:
The pedestrian
nature of father’s day
It took
me all day to settle down
The anger,
the fear, the ugly town
The endless
tears, the loss of time
The call
from the curve of the universe
The voice
saying: “all is the abyss”
“There
is no reason and no rhyme”
No more
sense of you
I want
no monikers
No memorials
No remembrances
I want
only to forget
Repression
is my art
A cold
heart, my reprieve
A closed
soul, my bed
No spirit,
my resolution
Damn
you, Mr. Cat Stevens
For this
taste of ancient love
Before
all, there was Father
Before
bone of bone there was mother
Before
romance, pure nature
And before
me was ‘He’
He that
is no more
He that
has left the stage
He, I
do not love
He,
no love and so no sleep
Damn
you, Mr. Stevens
For reminding
me
Of David
and Esther
And slain
Samson
Of myself
I will
go to bed now
I will
not remember
I will
not untangle the lie about love
For all
is loss
And father
is lost
I will
go to the arms of my lover
And there,
I will cry
Be a
baby again
I will
say: father…