With Blake, in London

by Vyt Bakaitis

Bad poems
more than enough to drown in
too soon

(breath’s refrain)

(wind huff)

2.
I WILL MAKE THIS NEWSPAPER MINE
LEAD–LINED WINDOWS AND ALL
KINDS OF CRUD TO FIT AND FILL
TO THE SKY–HIGH MARGINS

It could be that, according to Blake
to start with a fart
inarticulate to oblivion

3.
There are few translations in the book, in halting versions, mute
imitations, fakes or frustrations. No stray paradoxes, strict
adaptations. No paradigms, or paraphrases. At best, traces of
reluctant agitation. All those voices.

4.
Now the shark has set his teeth
these he’ll flash right in your face
what Macheath has for a switchblade
he keeps hidden just in case