POEM ON St VALENTINE'S DAY

Soul resides in hair and fur and feather
scale and leaf and earth.
Soul is part of sap and rock
and blood and turds and weather.
Soul inhabits empty spaces -
not brains nor hearts nor tongues nor mouths
nor eyes nor faces:
Soul resides in fur and bushy places.

 

CULTURE IS THE VULTURE
THAT RIPS APART THE HEART

Every day that passes
spurn the middle classes
more and more.
I never lock my door.

 

dissident editions