Ugly


Who was the one to clad the Truth in white?
She dwells - shy, taciturn - in numbers, ages,
still photographs and screaming pages,
coy, shine her bloody teeth. She's grinning wide.


Continuity of sense, of time.
Bland whispering of grass.
Concealing ashes, signs,
the charred bones of Truth from trusting eyes.
Deep smile the sculls.
Who was that fool to sing
of Truth and Beauty in the same old lines?
Old lies!
A true spell must be cast
or we shall die -
- and still you lie...

     you ugly mumbling thing
     pedantically blind
     you, deaf to words and cries alike
     a fly in Heaven's eye ---

your tongue is crooked.
As for your soul!..
You must
return
to dust.



(c) Лапочка 2003

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