ECT & Me

[Guest]

[Pater]

My talent is of nothingness,
no emblems written in the blood
of misted history; I'm a suspect.
But I can dream when I close my eyes.
I will disappear in the future,
like everyone else. Crumble away
as do inanimate things. But I can sing.

My demands are those unpossessed
by me, carved by kings of the woods
on family trees; Latin whorls on crests.
But I can scream from the highest rise.
The salt of my tears dries in the dust
left by someone else. Tumbles away
on the unthinking wind; for I, me, it sings.

by Pater