After
And to write a poem
beneath the sickle moon
is barbaric
And to trace a poem
upon the lover's body
is barbaric
And to write a poem
amidst the dust
amidst the dust
storm of history is barbaric
And to read a poem
To read
while the book is burning
and to enter the Paper House
while the streets are burning
To enter the Paper House
which is silent
And to hear the song
should we call it a song
soonest gone
of the cicadas
in the parching heat
when to drink
of the lover's liquid
is barbaric
And to wander
in a dark wood
wander lost
in a dark wood
to look
and to begin
to say farewell
to begin
and to dwell
to dwell upon
to dwell among
——————————
Michael Palmer
The Laughter of the Sphinx
New Directions 2016
