The New Girl
The new girl with violent hair Ignored me daily on the stair Her glance-away was like a stare 1 make my own disasters Across the sky I saw her hand A bundle into a waiting hand I wanted not to understand Parcelled cock to be sacrificed To a God who'll take away a life I had not known could be sacrificed She went down a darkening street With a knife to make my last defeat Who was she going that night to meet I lay in wait for my own death Expecting to hear my final breath I dreamt and watched them plan my death I saw them at work at their Black Arts Hated their understanding hearts
In the temple where death starts
But when I woke this vision cleared I looked for the new girl whom I'd feared The death was that she'd disappeared Have you seen a hole in emptiness Where nothing was have you seen less When you feared death have you been death You make your own disasters MARTIN SEYMOUR-SMITH
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