Crying for Othello

The fire beneath my breast
Burns faster in Budapest
The times that call for jest
Are less
But the rolling robin calls
As fans kick footballs
Across the pitch of their tomorrow
Birds sleep on the wing
As the Martins or swallows
And all the half price houses fall
With the grace of a still standing wall
As the city park is built
After dark up to their necks in silt
Yet there's no use crying
Over milk that's spilt

The roses of my mind
Grow terse in time
Grow like nursery rhymes
Where crows fly out of my eyes
Lay their eggs of lies,
Somewhere deep in their sockets
Where I just cannot believe them
And deep in thoughts' pockets
Where I search for loose change
To make it through another day
Until they hatch these fledgling lies
Black birds that fly away

After them she shoots her arrows of truth
And they fall down everyone
In the field of bare looks
Where scarecrow glances
Hide winces in books
Convinces us that all eyes have hooks
And all eyes have fishes
That swim there waiting to be caught