Camus, I want to know, does the cold knife
of wind plunge
noiselessly into the soul, finally
Camus, I want to know, does the seated death wing as sud-
den, swifter than leaden Fascist bullets ...
Camus, sand-faced rebel from Olympus, brain lit, shining
cleanly, on far historical peaks ...
Camus, I want to know, does the jagged fender resemble
Franco, standing spiked at Madrid's Goyaesque
wound
Camus, I want to know, the dull aesthetics, rubbery thump of
exploding wheels, the tick-pock of dust on steel
Camus, I want to know, does it clackety clack like that destiny
Train, shrieking to the Finland station
Camus, I want to know, does the sorrowful cry of unwilling
companions console the dying air ...
Camus, I want to know, does the cry of protested death sing
like binding vow of lovers' nod
Camus, I want to know, does the bitter taste of jagged glass
sweeten the ripped tongue, dried
Camus, I want to know, does the sour taste of
promise flee the dying mouth and eyes and lip
Camus, I want to know, does the liberated blood bubble
to the soil, microscopic Red Seas
Camus, I want to know, does the cyclop headlight illuminate
nerve-lined pits of final desires
Camus, I want to know, does the secret hoard of unanswered
queries scream for ultimate solutions
Camus, I want to know, does the eye of time blink in antic-
pation of recaptured seasons enriched
Camus, I want to know, does the sliver of quartz sensoulize
the clash of flesh on chrome and bone
Camus, I want to know, does the piercing spear of death
imitate denied desire, internal crucifixion
Camus, I want to know, does the spiritual juice flee as slowly,
as the Saharablood of prophets' sons
Camus, I want to know, does it mirror the Arab virgin, her
sex impaled on some soldier's wine bottle
Camus, I shall follow you over itching floors of black deserts,
across roofs of burning palms ... Camus, I shall crawl on sandpaper
knees on oasis bottoms of
secret Bedouin wells, cursing ... Camus, I shall reach the hot
sky, my brown mouth filled with
fragile telephones, sans rings... Camus, I shall mumble long-cherished
gibberish through
layers of protesting heat demanding ... Camus, I shall scream
but one awesome question, does death exist? Camus, I want
to know. . .
