Ki-be ugrál
My eyes jump in and out, I'm mad again.
When I'm like this, don't hurt me. Hold me tight.
When all I am goes crosseyed in my brain,
don't show your fist to me: my broken sight
would never recognize it anyway.
Don't jerk me, sweet, off the void edge of the night.
Think: I have nothing left to give away,
no one to have and hold. What I called "me"
is nothing too. I gnaw its crumbs today,
and when this poem is done it will not be. . .
As space is by a searchlight, I am pierced through
by naked sight: what sin is this they see
who answer not, no matter what I do,
they who by law should love, be claimed by me.
Do not believe this sin you can't construe,
till my grave-mould acquits and sets me free.
