дневник двойника

* * *
city the skylit castle its thirty suns of september
whose oriflammes flapping recede in the dusty distance
along the temporal axis of the garden enclosure
wherein i daily rest my corporeal burden
myself and other animals observed

how quaintly they creep and skip little dears
their puny lifespans within my sneezing range
i will be their idol who fails them
i feel enough power to fail each and everyone
of them through neglect but deliberately never
and never out of spite for there is love enough for all
their tiny prayers aimed at me miss

the promised eternity is a month short
of the sole end that counts
old gent september with his thirty wayward sons
a book left on the bench
by someone absent minded one could
squint and read the title os lusiades
i should know what that means but I do not
must have understood it but forgotten
all knowledge alas is loss