Mest lästa ▸
Dan Mauro
Black dragons
in my cornflakes
jump out of milk
and snap at me
demonized cereal
makes breakfast
like a horror picture show
scarring me
like a kid
puking like a drunk
I want to scream but can't
as nutritious corn
from a demonic head
and reaches for me
alarm rings
waking me for the day
Those waiting
at the breakfast
table understood —
though they had not
been told.
Just a few of the roses we gathered from the Isar
Are fallen, and their mauve-red petals on the cloth
Float like boats on a river, while other
Roses are ready to fall, reluctant and loth.
She laughs at me across the table, saying
I am beautiful. I look at the rumpled young roses
And suddenly realise, in them as in me,
How lovely the present is that this day discloses.
The law says you and I belong to each other, George.
The law says you are mine and I am yours, George.
And there are a million miles of white snowstorms, a million furnaces of hell,
Between the chair where you sit and the chair where
I sit.
The law says two strangers shall eat breakfast together after nights on the horn of an Arctic moon.