There is a subtle emptiness
Placing a shutter, blankest white
Before the dripping ink of night
Cupped in the brown they call my eyes.
The pounding of a silent voice
Upon the bottom of my mind.
A wordless tremble in my hands,
Some concrete in my smile.
Oh well, I murmured to the voice,
What matter if I don’t rejoice?
A passing whim, a selfish choice,
Then I’ll be fine tomorrow.

  The giants, oh! They raise their arms,
  Pulling the membrane off the moon,
  Unveiling core of blinding light,
  A blossom of sundews.
  My giant! Love! A chandelier,
  Glaring upon my feverish skull,
  Your smile of stone and eyes of ink,
  Thee is a subtle emptiness,
  My dear, you truly make me sick,
  Both arrogance and self-hatred,
  An inner eye that never blinks,
  That never looks outside yourself.