The shower of black infants across the infected landscape
birds, glaringly inhibited, as they dissolve
into the disappearance of boundaries
on a sea, filthy and darkened with bodies
where pa**ion rests beside the white canvas...
Im lost again as Im waking
as a wave would wake had it reached the shore:
it's like movement, something which bores us terribly,
but remains for a time to be never forgotten.
as somewhere there is a series of colors
winging their imperfect light
above your feeble reaction to it all
and spreading like blankets of trees in winter
onto the cold metal surrounding you
while all Im doing is gliding
toward some future, composed of plants and stones,
that pa**ionate oasis, aware of fire dragged
through the mist of all those other possibilities:
moonlike emotion over this flat harbor
moon exhausted across your embarra**ed hand
where I finger this light eventually
of the rainbow you have constructed
like numbers along the map of some great thruway
thoughtlessly arranging some final confusion:
in the morning up early to look for you