Was it true you could walk to Malta?
If I dream again I’d like to be an Ocean, a cock ring
On Olaf Indrija in summer 76, where il-quċċija
predicted him to this point I don’t know.
I thought of endless excuses:
The cat shit, the shit grew into a tree,
I turned into a bear in the shower.
Either way, I’ll wait for you
In the bays and coves
You and mother.
Remember when we watched the kajjiks sinking?
Life was different then, love making
Was this fiberglass hull and this gillnet, this tangling
The bees swimming the waves so perfectly
On the other side of this harbour you tell me how strong you are:
Come out little one, I will shelter you I will love you I will slit your throat.
And then there’s the sea waiting for me, wadding for mother.
And I swim and swim,
the nakedness ever so fondant.
No comments:
Post a Comment