in this time of beginnings
I started to think: as a Capricorn,
the Merman, and a Golden fish,
from the heights of last October
down to the darkened ends of the pond
and my thoughts were like flowers:
1. one cut for birthing and pain,
2. another for the breathing, to sustain,
3. the third one for death, and the sorrows,
4. and the last one, for the beginning,
and the mysterious end: three wishes.
And the floweresse who took care
from another side of the world
called up, for my name,
on all three occasions
except for the last that incurred in a debt
towards the ends, where do they meet?
Towards the beginnings, to meet the ends?
Towards the ends, to meet the beginnings?
One thing she couldn't understand was:
the Universe is omnivorously feminine,
filled with all the joy, and worry,
with pleasure and pain,
but the reciprocity is in a simple assurance
which one cannot find elsewhere
than in that very beauty and the breast.
I completely lost the plot by the admission to merciless cutting.