The water rose on the painted faces,
The bottled stars smiled their grace,
The angst of the waning moon
Fills my demon heart.
With maddening violins upon the frills –
The skirting circle of the damsel’s dress,
Fried the netted tassel of my Chinese bell.
And the serpentining night
Diffused the fading flowers,
Rich to blossom rich to die.
There you threw my heart
To pant in the Woolf’s weeded soul,
And there it grew with a rage
Like some green ancient dragon
upon the golden skies.
Love was like decaying hairs
Spread upon the mad poet’s grave.
All that carbon memories
Wreathed in old dying wine,
To throw a few sad tunes
I am not the one you think me to be.
For fire-flame and mountain mist
All to consume,
To be one and many
To be like a folded star,
Upon those speaking landscapes.
Your body and mind
Twisted among the red autumn leaves.
For I let you scatter,
Under the weeping bridge
Where unicorns meet the burning moon.
And there you stay like a hostile thought
Growing faces to consume
For my heart is crossed
With circe’s totem
Coiling around my brown neck.
Ivory memories-you claim it there
To breed like haunted wingless birds.
And I swim beyond the poppy fields
To be one with the virgin moon and stars
To sleep and burst
Those smoky poisonous rings of your tell tale heart.
