Jane Faire

Jane Faire

To know the different whispers of poison

the suck of deep making night a death of day

combined with day and the sixth hour

forgotten key of nothing we know

speaking poison of each symbol

speaking symbol of each poison

existence in its pure mixture

the very art is division and union of matters

this won’t be

this won’t be neither

so this is existing instant poison

*

Faire Jane was copulating word

of secret and of bloody sacred

the rage was part of us as we spoke

but she learnt me the whisper of health

bringing out and back to birds

she learnt to me not and yes she did teach

reading on the past of a body and of used hope

the best of used hope

as melt with despair in me

as I choose the colours of colliers

staring at Virgin Queene crowne

and I have smiled not and I have smiled

but I did not stare at any other thing but the changing

and both colliers and crowne

I found my queene

two heads where sufficient to me on a girl

to love her as a poem or a troubled tear

where cinder can not see

and the poem is done

*

if you think so much on me

if you have things to do

if you’re not the person of pleasure

if I put the knife of decaying souls

if I have crossed the silver green of cunts

if this is some meaning in meaning

and you spend my dear Jane Faire love on dreams

breathing deeply as empoisoned mean cat

to take dead and books to the world

giving to cruelty of flies

this letters you mistake and abandon on the peack

of a wandering fortune freedom

as I kiss the goat’s hair and silk of my lady

as I kiss and salivate a prayer

Faire Jane teachings always spring fresh and warm

always two red and blue heads of female

to take a shower of brutal nostalgye

her teachings were useless and more useful

than hope or despair, she had an air of me

and so she was my teacher those days

but today I stare at through earth of tissues

capricorn wool and butterflie childhood foams

stories of the stair of my head cream

the crying and singing bible of neighbours

the fixing of spiders on a screen

and noise is my voice and my belief, finally

to make impossible vows

and to help this sad monk

even given thaate he is dead