Alexandre Deschaumes
The Venusian wilderness
Becomes the lens through
Which all other lenses are cashed.
A cloak of stars, a prison of mist
A cruel black vacancy in
The nexus of my beloved spine.
Whatever the value of goods
If love lacks, poverty will follow
–
If you’re not prepared to see me
Naked than don’t stand so close.
A pursuit garnished but ill-favored,
A diaphanous skirt raging
Through snags of untenable wind.
Catch me if you dare
But be ready to suffer the consequence.
For
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