Untitled (There is nothing to be said)

There is nothing to be said
When we are denied
The sense-bread.
Once a poet cried:
   "I hunger"
And his song died.

I hunger! Christ!
Is it true
That Beauty has so high-priced
Her kisses? With you
O clay-wise men
I would eat
And laugh at the shame of it - 
No music when
The dancers infinite
Called from a flower
Called my name
Through the petalled flame
And I fed dumb
Fallen from power.
They come the dancers come. Have I cried hunger