Pierrot

Paint me a picture of Tosca
Write me a song about Dionysus
Dedicate your confused prayers
To the saints of the byestreet brothels

For I escaped the paintings of loss
Wearing my cape virgin to blood
But stained by the purgatory, nothing but
My heavy powdered face to protect me

I am young and old, like a sailor
Like a convict, like the memory of birth
In one of my melancholic fever dreams
I will recite my will to Columbine

I leave my memories to the prisoners of love
I leave my anguish to the logic
I leave my drowned water to Ophelia
To erase the dead flowers we smell

I wave my farewell in disguise
To the double heart of the mirror wall
I abandon the bare chested mornings
To fragment and multiply my year of change