Chris Edwards
Rilke Renditions IV
Rilke Renditions IV
So, it’s like that, is it? I’d been trotting awhile with the Atum,
whose words are not normally meant for me, and had at last become
privy to certain errors concerning my Wang — quite a tall one,
if he’d hinted correctly. So I say … uh …
Hello dear defanged wonder and broken shell
of the bogeyman’s shadow. Pile your zeal upon my pillow
if you wish. Puffy with expectation, I glance eagerly,
but lofty it ain’t.
Fuck it. Each night the same leaden snoring sucks me off
to Zürich and dreams of Erda the Witch. She sang burger and
Schweppes commercials and burgled and wept her way across Europe,
much like me and myself, I suppose. Am I doomed to plummet through her
as she drags on constant cigarettes, to get more quickly to the
Afterlife she says … where there’s more room … ?
