or light,
the season became makeshift
wallpaper
hung by tedious hands.
Little seep of plaster dirt
escaping the touch,
grass bristled by frost
where occasional flower
was torched with cold
savaged bees
stumbled from the weeds.

METAPHOR

There is a star near
the hinge of planets,
a barn under
a cow's lick of moon--
plausible people
moving thru an
airless universe.

Pay attention to the frond of lilac
. . . limestone troughs upon which
thickets of Indian scalp &
devil's paintbrush soar
to the horizon
and, afterwards,
little creeks run
with the sparrows of evening time
in step to tiny boatmen
that echo enamelled snails
from the very consonants of earth.

Rustle of leaves,
some might argue
breathless gasps
to intone the savagery
of little seasonal voices
cut off
mid-stream.

A spate of bees,
early colonizers
deflower blossoms and
strip-mine lava butter of erupting
hard-shell tulips:
such careless penetrations--
volcanic intrusions entomb
their hairy bodies caked with
the iron-lung of blackened soot petals,
each a cough drop
on the heaving breath
of a declining afternoon.

EMBERS

As you enter into dream--
its the unconsciousness
which stifles,
the thin embers
called flame
that outdistance
the controlled rubric
of desire.

SKIN

Her emerald top
phosphorescent candy glow
stick candy,
sno' cane--
floss like
the mane revealed beneath,
spun hair matted/woven into
icicle lengths & pubis mink.

Her presence as a monk sliding
under a cowl, jet-black velvet
or midnight eye-liner shadow
knotting strands of dark.

She comes on waves--
candelabra is a name
deft movement of finger
caressing storm, bare legs
shining wet street lamps
decantered ambered wine.

Cigarette floating between lips,
uncharted voyage of the smile
where puffs of smoke
are parrots' wings,
incandescent show-girls
in novelty across the flame.

ASGARD

In the ardour
of an Asgard fire
see adders from her
vinous fire per
adua ad astra.

Listen to the wind--
the ageless, intoning wind,
a sea-hag encrusted on
a mattress of waves.

Cat's footfall,
breath of fish
the flowering beard of a woman.

OLD BROMPTON ROAD

"Death is but a sleep"
quaint rationalization
even to Revolutionarie