- 2014
translated by Angelos Sakkis
When she laid eyes on the shore
a taste of benthos in her mouth, a whale’s scream
she said, the waste land is me,
how do I walk, an outcast here,
with dumb horse-slaying words
my card reversed, and it’s at the wheel.
The ex machina ones are galloping again
those with the crooked shafts
and it’s a mournful place
for they had a hunting son
they had a son corsair,
and I had a proclivity
a nice bent of neck.
The omens, crazy shills.
The beauty now
to men enslaved.
Beauty kills.
That I’ll reveal.
The death of
a poet
won’t be kept from the poem.
That it will reveal.
Grinding with shrieks
the soldier’s fate.
Dancers, Kedros editions, Athens, 2014