Polar Nettles
He takes his dinner in the bath
Love sickened and infirmed
The orderly found him there
Flayed on the marble stairs
Hat still in hand his smoking remains
Blown out by a kiss from Nurse someday soon
Someday soon
Someday soon
Some way soon
Some, some, some
His eyes are closed
he mouths her name
the rosary her lips and tongue
she is the centrifuge that throws
the spires from the sun
the Sistine Chapel painted with the Gatling gun
Someday soon
Someday soon
Someday soon
Someday soon
Someday soon
Polar nettles set on him
Move like starlings up a cliff
And tenor of a foggy touch
the force field around their frosty hairs
whose shape recalls the wicked spade
that buried him but on his lips
and last rites of Nurse
someday soon