Count the people who laugh like
jackals after dark,
Chances are
one of them has a dog's head.
Would take you home,
sing you a relief song
written with all the attentiveness
of a Doberman Pinscher.
Of course, things can't all be good.
There has to be some element of
brutality.

He himself is a false impression,
a teacher of lessons. walks through
valleys of shadow in his half human
and rustic form, has
a sharp dagger ready to descend
upon the breasts like a smooth bird,
of the women who lie down for him,
little glass dolls.
He'll tell you over and over
that death is like a night
that weighs and warms the heart.