NIETZSCHE IN TURIN What do I claim on my makeshift stage? War against myself. War against my age. Here in Turin between the Alps and sea I retell my life with new-sprung levity. Delicate thoughts enter on dove’s feet; there’s no memory of childhood I would keep. It is wiser to forget, to let the word advance unfettered, to relish its tang and nuance, between tongue and teeth transgress stale limits. Archaic gods pulse under my finger-tips - living is their strum and resonance. A hundred times I murmur yes and would not have it otherwise. Yesterday I embraced a black whinnying horse whipped by its rider without remorse. Today I attended my funeral twice. I wore my student overcoat. My skin as cold as ice.6_behold.html
 
poems.html
6_behold.html