Perhaps lights exists In the persistence of one image. This one, lined up in the gun sights, Which my nose dimly became.

Then how to explain the dark, The endless swamp at every turn? Faith or fate may lead one to higher Ground, but always leave this geography

Unexplored and unexplained. What is the extant of this country? How high are the sand dunes here? There I too crawl on my fours,

Sounding at every step for hidden Crevasses, blue ice curving away Into an ending no one can see. Are these endings whose inevitability,

By fleeing, I am trying to defer? Light is both a wave and a particle. What article is then the dark? A static vacuum, an absence,

A yawing mouth, a hunger That never ceases, something eyes Never see because it takes up Residence only on their closing?

A third eye on a green sheet, gleams, possessing the answers.

[1]

He picks and secrets in his coat pocket four wine maple leaves. And when he arrives, he places them on his desk; glowing embers against dipping mercury and the drip of night’s hourglass.

[2]

Her body sways in a night club, a wire Twanging in the gusts. (of alcohol? Of li-n-es He is glibly feeding her?) Later everything Would be lost and found, when he peels open Her folds and tastes his rancid need.

[3]

He juggles and draws, from a bag of things Given and accepted, this time, a green notebook. From it a silver palm print pressed on a sheet of black paper fall out. The pages thus emptied, are again his to populate.

[4]

Her angular face is a sandstone brise-soleil to which he eagerly ties his talismans, poems, prayer flags. But if he leans forward to kiss her, Time will became opaque. He must Remember this important rule:

“Muses, as other pedestal-ed things, need to be observed from a (safe?) distance”

I am feeding from the trough filled with books of poems, at sundown.

They are all here. My carbs, my protiens, my vitamins, my nurses, male and female.

I am yet to decide who will be my girlfriend. Some of these girls are - god -

damn crazy! I love them all! Their tongues drip sweet, sour and bitter

over mine. And the boys? The rascal gods keep grinning. Everything else? - Just breath.

Even stars. Even tears. I breathe what they breathe. My whole being resides here

Hunched over this stack. Our spines, now shot with sun, are pulsing!