Saturday, March 28, 2009

The Hexagonal Casement

Geranium flouts the rules of the game
The musical smell of potpourri
Watches westward medley
Cyclone, the whore, and the child
Twirl the dusts of the brick road
A limousine
Can break through the wrinkled pain
Of animal passion
That is the mystery of it
The lines on zebra
And zebra lines are
Same in all possible universes
Until blood dries up in the linctuses
No one ever left this room piqued
No world for sleuthing
Hardly a memory prison
A wind in blue, a masquerade
There is an oubliette
Where broken languages are preserved
With a door sealed with tongues of poison
Why the room and street
The vast blue itself is otiose

No comments:

Post a Comment