Even though I call him my sun-tanned god;
As he laughs and skates on the waves,
I slaughter him in my mind,
A ghastly howl of the knife,
A trickle of the divine
To bring together in my mind
Some semblance of sex and death —
I do this, I think,
Because am I a neurotic? —
many would agree.
Only because they do not allow such cruel thoughts.
But it is the only way to rid him from the contours:
the image in my mind that sticks,
Subscribe to stones of erasmus by Email