“This culture refuses to affirm death. And it is the central myth of our
culture, but we refuse to affirm that we have been expelled from paradise.”
— Leonard Cohen.

At the East of Eden
I shall die,
defenceless against
the garden wall
— the page printed
the hurt inflicted
yet, a thousand mandolins
in my mind.
Among so many
animals gone mad
such frail violets
piercing rocks —
even if something
might turn wrong
I am still calling for
an encore.
At the East of Eden
we shall die,
misled, bereaved,
broken by lies,
so let’s go down
to the rose bush,
talk a little,
drink wine —
The door is open
on the Spring night,
come on Love,
there is time —
let’s defer the tears
a little while.