I.
Like Morphine, I take away the pain from man
Whoever stares into my eyes will no longer be free
I’m the most beautiful woman in all mythologies
Paradise on earth – the most dangerous of all,
I’m creative madness
Patricia, the Sister of God
My sons are all things, all possibilities
my daughters
I induce the most complex suicides,
Give and take life and don’t think it good or bad because I’m
a flower and flowers are without judgement – they’re indifferent and sad
I advise the German romantics to take up
arms and fight for useless causes. I stuff powder
into their guns,
Provoke in them the Greatest pleasures
I’m made of flesh and blood and not of light –
I’m Our Lady of the North Pole
seeing sun drip on the ice:
II.
I’m the dream of a camel with special needs,
the delirium of the Siamese twin girls
the nightmare of four newborn giraffes
Paralysis is the opposite of God – you said
Beneath my skirts, I stroke your head –
I’m the ashes of a dictator in the beak of a flying raven
all quince paste sellers along the Iraqi border
Beneath my skirts – I love you like a lunatic
III.
I’m the possibility – in my mouth oxen till the land,
Leaving their hooves’ Carolingian marks
The plough writes a Petrarchan rhyme on my tongue
In Carolingian script of the most perfect calligraphy
I write that I adore you in fluorescent new metre
The tulle-dressed papist fairies Smear their faces with jelly and jam
Dreams: the sweetest, such as
Africa has broken in half
in my mouth the whole of Africa
Link, link, link, link
IV.
The fear of being alone, with the goddess of fertility gnawing at my
uterus
The most profound desires – of a crane driver
Mouth full of snow The hair burning to the sound of music –
red hair – the headphones!
The clouds in the dream are less beautiful
Snowflakes in Brussels, the angels warm up
Every day I drive on a silver motorway that runs till the
centre of your soul
There’s pleasure in each atom,
in each atom – the universe
The bakers knead dough across the whole of Hungary
in Upper Hungary and in Lower Hungary
Tomorrow the Hungarian children, the greediest –
the Hungarian bakers, the saddest
– Look me in the eye
my eyes are sad, you said:
The saddest of all