BORDER

at your temple a revolver mouth
in the middle of the night

and you know you are to be shot
into the boundless eternity

because there is a border around your voice
an accent that belongs to just one place

an accent not shared by the mouth of the gun
that will leave you as a chunk of meat

beside a road
that goes nowhere

because all directions have come to an end in your case

I am filled with self-pity and terror
as I pull the trigger

Teora

Teora

béal gunnáin le d’uisinn
i lár na hoíche

is tá’s agat go bhfuilir le scaoileadh
isteach sa síoraíocht gan teora

de bhrí go bhfuil teora thart ar do ghlór
tuin ná baineann ach le dúthaigh amháin

tuin ná fuil ar bhéal an ghunnáin
a fhágfaidh tú i d’allait feola

le hais an bhóthair
ná gabhann in aon áit

de bhrí go bhfuil deireadh le treonna id chás-sa

líontar le trua dom féin mé is le hanbhá
is mé ag tarrac thruicear an ghunnáin