1975
Janus stayed a long long year down by Marseilles,
his sunlight surged on nubile sirens playing volleyball sea-side,
his Id painted piece by piece that side-street Hades, grey, his choice of visage,
most fires choose the latter for their tryst,
the filth oozing on the former, avoiding earthly judgment;
it was here I heard them say "Nice shot Jimmy",
Monsieur Charnier drowning in sanguine penance,
Marseilles' face turned no brighter that day,
no freer of its boiled-egg acne, its mud-veined mysteries -
"Nice shot, Jimmy" they said back home,
his lone and single face taken suddenly by a shade of brittle stone
Half man, half creature of very odd habit, John Doyle dabbles in poetry when other forms of alchemy and whatnot just don't meet his creative needs. From County Kildare in Ireland, he is (let's just politely say) closer to 50 than 21.
No comments:
Post a Comment