Page 27 - October 2020
P. 27


                                            Koukis Christos

                            “People live down here and there’s you gaping at the view”
                                                 My love is scolding me
                                         Hallelujah ; loneliness has done us in
                                     Ashes is hardness in our lungs ; Hallelujah
                                        where are the people, where their fires

                                               “Plane-trees our mistakes”
                                                My love breaks my heart
                                           Half in the shade half in the light
                                   With the ocean’s sandals as ploughs on its feet

                                 Like water that doesn’t hold it against gurgling time

                                           My love is a world of no illusions
                                             Nature’s quadrilateral garment
                                              Male and female elucidation
                                            Verbs that arrange significance
                                               Enamel in beauty’s mould

                                  The earth’s basements boil and islands pour out
                                               My hands take on a feeling
                                  The heart’s cables boil and conscience pours out
                             My blasphemous love doesn’t parley with the government
                                 It swarms up summer’s pulse, up the mast of truth
                            My love Jerusalem New York, Peking, Mecca, Poor Suburbs

                              My love has removed the European locket from its neck

                                   By word of mouth comes the silence of change
                                My love, a donor of surprise and unforeseen change
                                                  not in the programme
                                                 My love pays its taxes
                                        by painting densely populated curtains
                                   unscrewing burnt candles from human failures
                                          saving nooses of certain throttling
                                  correcting equations on the blackboard of souls
                                      washing away the blood on market floors
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