the born day of screams

clubbed us red toward voice

 

blood!       sunrise!

symphony of winter roses!

Water!

Water!

open us!

 

 

 

 

these  little  trials and  mis

fortunes mixed all in a bla

ze  the aching hollows the

full drunk daze    and you

no longer                     here

 

 

 

the green desire of shape

stretches out

and waits

 

 

 

 

Silently symphonic and complete

the slowly toppling dream’s

wide, wide tree.

 

 

in the dream the Women had to pay

for their toilet use

 

and if too poor

they crawled beneath stall doors

 

but it wasn’t like this Everywhere

 

it was like this only off the Main Entrance

only off the Elementary Halls

 

and if a Woman found herself alone

wandering

somewhat amazed

by her forced complicity to sacrifice

 

if a Woman felt herself trapped

 

if the air smelled strange

if it had become the air of Predator and Prey

as the Dream turned Nightmare in the Dream

 

She could opt to enter—for safety’s sake—the Room

where the Red Sign read:

 

In case of rape

Women may hide

in the Men’s Room

 

Free

 

 

 

 

never

wind

would

void

the moan

 

but

tell it

not to

and

it howls

 

 

these little fevers

write themselves

through burning eyes

are blisters on the pen

past incubation

waiting

in blank horizons

mouthing

emptiness

where once were words

as signs 

 

 

 

what hour

of thought

left to calm

 

becomes

 

now god

now sword

now flights

 

in fancy

 

that only

certain angels

win

 

 

 .
 

 

slow

that moon whose rise begins

as thinnest hint of what will shine

or glow or glowingly only hint

the slightest airing of the slow-born show—

 

take it then

 

as suns take shadows

first by setting

then by easing into unseen lows—

 

take that draft into your arms

get drunk

start over

put a sweater on—

 

by heavens and convictions

that beginning is a taken slow

 

a turn

a twist

 

a slightest airing out

against crazed Night

 

by page and ink

 

that hint of Madmen's glow

 

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