Perhaps I was a bit of a lizzard
in the wake of a ruined rain,
Perhaps I was the ugly side of the beautiful
or the handsomest of all things ugly.
If the sun's shadow could have run green,
I would have been the fastest viridian
sprinting in my mother's tadpole races.

Was I fork, was I knife, was my edge sharp enough;
out of a thousand excuses I moulded myself..
A restless boy, easy in his coming easy in his going
I was a fretting nest of festering fits
And perhaps I had trouble written on my every fingertip.

Burgled policemen blow their whistles,
Shrilling with fear I wet myself back and front.
The sky was a three-star colonel
to him I turned to air myself in my flashing nakedness.
A foul-mouthed, an unpleasant poet
I was once a crab in the war against the Muscovite.

I was easy, I was at home in both my eyes,
my colours were by a half-blind man seduced.
Well, village or town must not whimper when they fall,
I would be the one crying outside the city wall.
Chilldren were heard wailing for bread,
If an apple was needed I would appear one the scene.
Christmas night was a night of busy lament
To save myself I broke out of my ivory tower.

Who knows may be I was a feather in a bald man's hat,
a corn without colour or tassel to its name,
Sweet basil went sour because of me,
Mayhap I was a lusty yell blowing from who knows where,

I came either from next door or from Paradise
Mayhap I was a voice, soft or strong,
When perhapsness patrolled the streets
Maybe I was not even a perhaps.