Mary Madelaine

(when) I go to bed
with this word or that word
(there are endless reasons
to give (up))
they pay me various rates
– it always pays

(and it’s not like that)
no, honestly
in the geometric triangle of legs
with a fountain in the middle

No, I

walk with a (hung) sign
mountains and peaks (of dreams)
for sale(s)
I slide my tongue
over flat, smooth
hopelessness

for a little (under) licking
(with a flower headress)
stroking your ego with a feather
I climb to the tip of the heaps
of yellow things

I level them flat
not like Mary Magdalen
but once Mary, once Madeleine

From Les abattoirs de Bruxelles, Księgarnia Akademicka, Kraków 2008