POEM IN THE MANNER OF THE DEVIL

                                                               Poem in the Manner of the Devil

After Aleksandar Ristović

( 1933-1994)

 

 

 

If you can’t chew on oxtail, eat knuckles instead.

The bounty of bedlam,

Let these crumbs be your Thanksgiving,

Or Last Suppers.

Imitation is always the greatest form of flattery.

See the world now through the light of wine.

 

Do you have confidence in the morning?

Do you have faith in toast?

Each morning, do you spread marmalade

Under the clouds in the sky?

 

Here, drink this little cup of coffee.

Taste the bitterness brewed in countless suns

And raise your little finger, subconsciously,

To honour the martyrdom of little buns.

 

These trees that surround you,

Why do their branches rise like accusatory fingers

Holding peaches up to the clouds?

 Where have all the flamingos flown?

Into the jaws of baboons in hell.

 

Columns, arches… shit!

Commerce herself is dizzied by the sun.

 

But know also this,

That within all of this madness

There is one alone who sleeps quietly

Nestled in dreams like a bird

And she dreams of housing owls

While presiding over countless committees.