This old moon is best
Born out of her young thighs
Bejaysus ! We´re mad !
All are keen to know
Whence our goddesses, their moods?
Birch, Kypros Bitches !
And their sea is deep / Piss-wine-dark and snot , that dawn / Who blinded Homer?
Sing, Retsina Song / Air On De G – String , ” mar eadh” / Well then: Death in life …
Lonely Limassol / Soon enough will bark, fart, stretch / You have things to do
Lawrence Durrell tried
To love himself. – Great whinny /
Godesses snigger
Yet Catal Hüyür
Predates your Gods, Seamuses,
By a thousand years
I dreamed my True Love
Lay dying. Apollo and
Jew soul, Christ , healed her
Since our Great Goethe / The Lemons´ Song is Germans´ / Fear Greeks ! – And Greek GIFTS !
Now sleep, Limassol / Which man / woman ´s dream will splice / Weary tomorrow ?
Once apon a time / Irish Patrick surfed to Greece / Weep, ye daffodills !
Being, becoming / A Kypros mind stopped the film / Tomorrow, let´s bathe !
Now it´s November / Turks stink, sweat under The Line / Bring them soap, peace, kiss
” Take you home again ? ”
Celtic Kathleen lacks this light
This foam, their old myths
Wailing, then waning
Athena on wet Kypros
Torrid, hot next year