SEANCE
Nothing exists
in the space between
us, there is only
room for collision,
blood of sacred union,
oedema of harsh impact.
There is blood on the wheel
of endeavoured enterprise,
blood on the seat of your hearse
where you lost control
of the virgining, tired,
frank and just.
Drive through the woods
and take the left here,
where it is cool and dark.
Show it to the councillor
and ask: what day is it
to be that you all come
to wedding?
When shall be the bloodletting
what shall we take?
Shall we hold you to artist’s
shaking hands, or
laugh to the rhythm
of the answered calling
called the right of retinue
to be here?
It will be answered again
by the fullness of moons
and the heartiness of blessings
from the sun who must
be to be here, where
they all see it as an
antwoord not séance.
