David Levitas

If our lives are written in sport,
Endless lines that reach the nethers and tort,
In sympathy and affection; loyalty gone for the reasons of our team,
Are we not tropes of a wider kalideoscope
...

Countless cigarettes, they mark my time of mourning
Ash trays full to the brim emptied, they sign my lines of dawning
When the stress and strain evaporate
And my limbs are free of tension,
...

From out the Shambles, I first heard that tune
A Juke Box pouring forth its wine like nectar;
Of golden hearts, lost a bleeding, seeking
For what can never be, when whips reeking
...

In my memories I live in a thousand countries counted by unnumbered years,
Book spread they ring of an imagination redolent with vitality
Touched with the reality of tumescent afternoons
When in Malia I kissed the creten-Spanish sun,
...

If thoughts can kill, and deed
Through sufference of others displeasure
(Act as the executioners block)
Become the knife which severs
...

If the male to the unbilical chord
Is tied, an angler fish inside a womb;
Caught between weakness and devouring strength,
The duty of manhood and pity's tomb;
...

If our lives, seperate and conjoined are a patchwork,
Strung together with the stitches of sympathy, pain and steady resolution;
Laced together with the threads of a soul's threnody,
Tied with thoughts that belie suspicion,
...

So full of error is our substance
So many faults that mar the fabric
Unpoint its smoothness, crack its rubric
That know we not, alone, unaided
...

Sitting beneath the giant whitened spread
A silhouette on rolling Dorset Hills,
A phallus as cream as its earthen bed
Among the munching bovine sweat, that feels
...

My body in the West, its heart Eastward lies;
My mind that Eastward rests, as spirit Westward flies;
My flesh that to Jerusalem yearns,
By ignorance and the willing kiss of guile
...

Angels we are,
Fallen in forgetfulness,
Of how desire conceived
Upon sweet smelling
...

There is no rock, I know that now, to hold
Fast against the wrath of passion, the deep
Sweep of pity, the ravages of bold
Remourseless Time, where humanity reaps
...

A mole I was, a rabbit, plumbing deep
The secrets of its underground warren,
Deep in the brown clayey soil of Croyden;
An old town, where a new one rose to leap,
...

Because my imagination became real, I long for solidity
Diseased thoughts feeding on generous affections
Creating a hell of morbidity,
Pathological symptoms tuned on an over generous heart,
...

Through others' eyes we are reflected, our image confirmed,
Through forms, institutions and the paper chase we know what we have learned,
And by means of persons otherness we feel of what we've sighed
Of how the whips and rankles on our limbs tell us what was truth, what lies.
...

In hell we are, the judgement has been made,
Ourselvespropelling our lives to the grave,
Where we face our shadows, already laid
With the dust of centuries waste, the rave
...

When we, on the balance, are put for sure,
Precariously placed, before Truth's door:
The throne, above, in celestial dew,
The waste-land, beneath, a cold greying hue;
...

Oh, ye angels weep, where was your brave sword,
The foreknowledge you claim, to serve your Lord,
And with silken wings, fly swift to guide
The righteous soul, whose passions grit must ride
...

Cruising on the first floor was just the start,
Ethics, Logic, Political Science;
Leviathan's faulty logic, at heart
A matter of the misanthropic part
...

In bars, where all that living freely trips,
Baring the soul between the mouth and lips,
Washed with cream that to a head does wander,
Touching the soul with feelings, that fonder
...