A LACK OF PAIN
So I define your holy Joy
As « A lack of my pain »,
Your smile is a viscous viper
Dancing little ōteʻa
In my viscera, like a Tapa of mane.
And you shall see no leizure
At the heart of my rot,
Neither do I secretely savor
This knot of ramparts
(It is made of fossilized love)
Give me this tinkling crown,
I’ll enthrone your eyes,
As they spoke with Truth,
Of my bluish misery.
So I name your evil Joy
« A lack of my sobs »,
Your smile is an empty glass,
The rolling scent of vodka,
In the brain of a thirsty boy.