The Ruin of Eleanor Marx
At the end of the small hours
somnolent streets
dreaming our future
without you
Our night dead mixing it
with your night dead
Our night head conspiring
with your night head
*
At the end of the small hours
rumours of song starlight
and rebellion
Out of each song courage
Out of courage song
Freeing you from the analyst’s couch
the unexpected
abyss
Baggage of morbidity
Brittle glass of a would-be kiss
*
At the end of the small hours
you are alone in an open window
Keeper of the infamous Nachlass
in search of a last justification
Part aristocrat part Rabbi
Part light part dust part pain
Borne remorselessly backwards
with your fronds and ambiguity
*
At the end of the small hours
when the hand mocks and sun consumes
When the bloodied nose
spells indignation upon the bed
When the fox in the abattoir
tiptoes to certain doom
When the hullabaloo in the theatre
spills into conceit and whisper
*
At the end of the small hours
when the candle is spent
end to end
When the great weight of being
eclipses unbearable lightness
When pages are torn out of turn
and differences of opinion
hide in the margins of thought
as hieroglyphs on the temple door
*
At the end of the small hours
when prophecy buries the hatchet
And the great arcana of history
falls flat like the belle of the ball
When the aggregates are in
for the tenants in the Soho slums
hiding coal from the slag for winter
Will it be fly or will it be spider
*
At the end of the small hours
After the final vote
After the dreams of laughter
and forgetting
After tall the secrets are blown
After tall he nails have been nailed
After past is transferred to present
After the battle-lines are drawn
*
At the end of the small hours
After the rosettes of doubt
After the long convalescence
and the debt never repaid
After the nights of hard drinking
and fine-dining
After all the wordless waiting
After all the touching and tears
*
Come the night the world ends
We shall all be waiting
Eyes wide shut
Arms open wide
*
Nihilist
May your tongue turn black as your heart
You who bark like a pig
You who would work over your own shadow
You who would tie the devil’s hands
Damn your smoke and mirrors
You who would string along the moon
You who only answer to the void
May your brass neck betray you
You who howl at the moon like a yard dog
Damn your Gospel of Pleasure
You with no fire in your belly for human love
***