wild child

Alessandro says
I used to write wild
and I am perplexed
as if I have forgotten sex,
delved into mystery
my mystery,
the enigma of fuck.
I think William Blake
sucked the marrow from my
language.
I'm still angry.
Self-annihilation is not
the poet's martyrdom.
You lose faith in your Bard,
lose faith in your God,
and your God self-destructs,
and thus annihilates
your soul.
Or your soul's words.
I used to write wild,
blackberry bushes,
growing over fields
my agriculture and my
nothingness.