here I met you
ann
at the reception of the four seasons hotel

sat in a musty armchair
and
fattening your lungs
with

good duch tobacco
dry vodka martini


your disciples are dragged on stage recite rimbaud frenzy of
applauding you tell them that everything can be interpreted
see
how dry are my anxieties
how slowly the fixity is squeezed do not laugh stink
poetry is

is part of me that always…



…in fine
nobody ever come here

last leave
you

guilty of love


I remain

with my flatness insipidity
and

slate-roofed house