a sun of birds dying on the third ridge
a sun of snakes circling a priestess
a sun of mares gathering slowly
a sun of petals smiling like a burning stamp
a sun of butchers ripping muddied carcasses
a sun of mendicants poking blinded dogs
a sun of mothers walking like a sheperdess
a sun of boys burning like sackcloth
a sun of poets spinnning like a bloodstained palm
a sun of stars tuning the nadir of the sky
a sun of rain living ripened ready and full
a sun of altars loving your whole body

he buttoned his shirt up front of his shirt
buttoned his shirt down unbuttoned his shirt
he buttoned his shirt and walked outside into
the cool morning sunshine with his breath
frosty and his hands tingly and thinking hard.

he walked down the street to the corner where
he used to wait for cars to pick him up the
stairs into a park where he used to sit down on
the grass and then across the bridge over the
freeway and into the city where his
destination was forthcoming and thinking hard.

balanced on the lip of a rolling waves
leaves wild flowing raiments for your discussion
leaves my hair pointed downwards
on all sides standing beside the sky-blue
matador, learning

spinning cotton into thread in this place
sets the dimpled autistic peloponesian in his
task to revolve around the speckled fate
of priceless unmatched destiny

the mystery of checkered and plaid patterns
seems to me the mystery of dolphins and otters
who made these channels of terracotta and platinum?
who ran through them in sandals and got
covered with mud?

the mountain is covered with a fine bluish mist
which it inhales and respirates loudly
the mist is like the whiskers of a great cat
the mist is like the mirrors on a windowless soul
like the glow of incandescence behind a rice paper lampshade

the posing fishes know what circuses are really for
they are constructing steel factories to get them into space
the seagulls are rearranging fermat's theorem
the sheep are resting and reading the new york times

everything is becoming not what it was
everything is turning into stars into the
ocean the universe is becoming a burning
blue lightlights shine on me daily

they are changing me into the stone
i'm changing into a nail file
i'm slowly becoming a telephone pole
and a lacquered loaf of french bread
at the same time

i'm changing you into a jar of corn
kernels into the waxy effigy of jesus christ
i'm sprinkling candy on your feet and
telling you what will become of it

breathe in the haze of afternoon heat
a plantation orchid house in french guiana 1918
the moisture condenses on your face
sticky water
smells like sweet intoxication
your lungs work harder

while we rest on a revolving hill

     surrounded by potent chariots

     gleaming like new cadillacs

we see

   blackened beaches

   like rooftops wrapped in wet 

laundry and

    alabaster shadows risen up

    like goliaths of the stratosphere

then quickly, we steal away

    into a humble nighttime

    where televised revolutions

    and great foriegn rainstorms

wash away

    the remaining yellow blooms

    of a forgotten season

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