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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=418956" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Atameros</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The palace with revolving doors was mine<br>And three of us went up its steps<br>To the tall room whose walls were made<br>Of the furred eyes of moths.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">One only went within -<br>Atameros the Greek;<br>With steps that slid along the floor<br>He slipped inside and closed the door.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Whilst Williamson took off his boots,<br>Produced three large synthetic mandrake roots<br>And softly musicked Home Sweet Home<br>Upon his dirty pocket-comb.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Within the room a metal thread<br>Uncoiled to greet Atameros;<br>He placed his bowler-hat upon its head<br>And skated round and round<br>To the delightful sound</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Of eight trombones,<br>Five saxophones,<br>And a lynched nigger's<br>Rattling bones.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Meanwhile, I hung out of the window and spat walnut-shells into the sea breaking on the walls far below.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Two doors he tried<br>One opened wide<br>He saw his face inside.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Down the corridor he walked -<br>Sixteen stools behind him stalked -<br>Till lie came where sponges grew:<br>Then Atameros really knew<br>Which end of the twig was forked.<br>This was the beach where the rats bred<br>So, reaching to the shelf above his head,<br>Atameros took the bowl<br>And strewed with seagulls' eyes<br>The crystal inches of the sand,<br>Setting them in a bloodshot squint<br>Towards the blue Madonna<br>Whose thighs nipped close the heavy clouds<br>Above that grey and troubled sea,<br>Tile soup of dead melt's bones,<br>Which washed with long-whipped moan,<br>The stumpy coral teeth of Fraser's Bay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But time was getting on.<br>Atameros took out his watch.<br>It fluttered from his hand<br>And minutes, like a cloud of nervous bats,<br>Brushed past him<br>As the eyes closed down their lids.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And I, still in my tower, lost vast sums at Crown and Anchor, for 1 was competing with the sun and the mailed sword.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He spat and every globule turned to pearls<br>That ill low-toned concentric whirls<br>Ran on before him<br>Till lie came<br>To that high room without a name<br>Where all things shift<br>And yet remain the same.<br>On tile black bed she lay<br>With little ants at play<br>About the lobe of each her ears,<br>Biting each minute three small fears.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Once every day they stopped,<br>Scoured the clanging skies<br>Caught all the turtle-doves<br>Tore off their heads<br>And from their beaks<br>Built her a tower<br>Which ringed the moon<br>With wide lassoes of bloody twittering tongues.<br>Her breasts were glass<br>Through them he gazed<br>And saw the beatings of her heart.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Beevers">John Beevers</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=418956" data-title="Atameros de John Beevers" data-description="The palace with revolving doors was mine
And three of us went up its steps
To the tall room whose walls were made
Of the furred eyes of moths.

One only went within -
Atameros the Greek;
With steps that slid along the floor
He slipped inside and c..."></div>
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