Tongue

Peripatetic irritation,
cuts the tongue of my bell.

Perennial mortification,
conversation – cuts my tongue in hell

for my walks in the gardens of dirty green – they attempt to manufacture lust
for my talks

of not fulfilling, those promises unsaid
of my desire to finally fulfill, these words unspoken

for our homeward walks,
for finality (as Kant was translated)
of what I remembered – to her I didn’t tell

Peripatetic irritation,
cuts my tongue in hell

for strolls in this garden, these vulgar flowers being gaudily bright
for stupid tropical sun, the unhealthy light

for all those heavens another he has promised
for the sound he made with the bell and his mouth

Perennial mortification,
skin contact – cuts the tongue of my bell