The great Greek lion tragedy
is at hand. The quantum cosmic elements
are all converging, closing in
on me. This personality, that wailing
war, your changeling desire. The ugly
animal head of some uglier
animal Fate is beginning to show its face.
I need to get away.
And get far away.
To Paris, Amsterdam, Berlin.
The closest thing to suicide
I can think of: to say goodbye
to everything, and travel
alone. To London, or Oslo.
To yet another spiritual self-dismemberment.
I need to solve myself
abroad. I need to think I can be solved
sylvan and renewed. In Venice,
or Novgorod. Dublin,
Athens. Anywhere but home,
where my heart's a prune, all bruised and old.
