Some Old Poetry

(There was Still Inside Her)
From Earth to Parcel for Paul Celan

There was still inside her, and
they broke.
They broke and broke, and as
the seconds crawled on, their fever. And they did not take
dwell,
that, so they thought, needed cast;
that, so they thought, bore all this.

They broke and thought nothing more;
they grasped blithely their hilts, uncovered no slip,
knew no halting utterance.

They broke.

There came soon a tear, there shortly came shred,
none of the favoured came.
He breaks, she breaks, and the part also breaks;
and the trouncing here snivel whispers: they broke.

O two, o three, o four, o'r her.
When will they go, when they've been through her all?
O he breaks, and he breaks, and he breaks through to maw,

and the courtesan on their fingers falls.