Spelling

words

 

which could

not fall,

 

fixtures

rotate,

 

paper-

lanterns

 

in the

typhoon-

 

winds.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The grainy

pain

 

of boredom

foists

 

a doctor's

wrist

 

into the surname:

 

'Wrist'

we watched

 

not on television

but in

 

another

theatre

 

one

finds

 

by entering

doors

 

in the city

at random.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The inscription

writ

 

on the inside

of your skin

 

I read

 

in a dream.

The magus

 

balked

where I did

 

not.

The sun

 

of the secret

led

 

far from

the sermon

 

and into

the maw

 

of a deadly

cosmogony.

 

 

 

 

 

Bodies

scarred

 

and empty

 

Shells

 

devoid of meat.

Simple

 

bibliographies

people

 

memory's

ware-house,

 

jocular spirits

flit in

 

the ear,

out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lost,

the muddled

 

mind

dissolves

 

into spaces

reserved

 

for lines

strung

 

in books,

a trail

 

of smoke

leading

 

from

the fire

 

to the

empty

 

sky.