I am child to the aborted sun of Astrachan
and blackened by the twin stars of Benares
the inner seashores of Venetia
flow in my blood
as the Roman Ceasars benignly down on me are smiling
was Astarte my mother, my father Bes?
who has dropped me in coke and blood and Jazz
then once a clique of noisy public
was witness to me knifin’ a lad
and his blood was spent in that argument
over who did have what to confess
so now my family tree is large over me
not on the market but in the cemetery
but in the certainty that silence is good
after childhood and manhood
and the wind passes by askin’: painful? very..