Keller Gegen Dom

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Keller Gegen Dom

Witness, would you⁠—

one more young man

in the evening of his love

hurrying to confession:

steps down a gutter

crosses a street

goes in at a doorway

opens for you⁠—

like some great flower⁠—

a room filled with lamplight;

or whirls himself

obediently to

the curl of a hill

some wind-dancing afternoon;

lies for you in

the futile darkness of

a wall, sets stars dancing

to the crack of a leaf⁠—

and⁠—leaning his head away⁠—

snuffs (secretly)

the bitter powder from

his thumb’s hollow,

takes your blessing and

goes home to bed?

Witness instead

whether you like it or not

a dark vinegar smelling place

from which trickles

the chuckle of

beginning laughter

It strikes midnight.