Poetry and poësie

The company a poet keeps

Tear open the ripe fig;
dawn comes tumbling over the hills
shouting red and orange insults
at the night.

The flesh quivers
in the fresh light,
the sweet liquid of lust
fondles the rosy fibres.

Break open an orange;
the translucent cullulose cells
cling to each other
in tight sections –
some burst and deliver
the sweet sap that bites the tongue.

Bite your tongue
and don’t say these first words
that trampoline into your mouth;
you must find those ones that bite,
the quiet ones that blink in the light –
only with them, only in agreement with them
can you be a poet.