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Magenta
(For Philip Lamantia)
Many times I have led this design
to your blinking eyes
many times afterward I imagined
a fountain collapsing
on a pile of columns
purple-stained and full of hands
washed by hysterical seas
and in the evening when the lions
quieted their humming
I wove your hair
into celestial rugs
and poured your effervescent tears
over the broken furniture
the sun sets/I become blind
the mushroom scent of certain beds
weaves a tapestry of distant cousins:
Giotto's perfect circle
the absolute cave
the incomparable escapes
rudiments of tails and wings
a stranger's contemplation of hunger
a framed version of the Golden Mean
the gift of twenty lashes
applied to a hated idea
the first egg
the nebulous Chaos
chasing itself with a golden wand
I have become a slave
to unknown formulas
I have feasted too many times
with Mamelukes
too many emblems have been sewn
for the regiments of lepers
too many scenes have been enacted
for the price of admission
too much time has galloped
through the exhausted air
I seek now the golden saps
running freely
in the veins of tropical flesh
I seek the illuminated branches
the mathematical glances of toads and foxes
I seek the august collection of baubles
immolated on a throne of copper fishes
I seek the caressfully blended magentas
hiding at the center
of the eternal past
I seek the aureoled Atlantises of Earth
I seek the trellis-laden flotillas
of polkadotted irises
I seek to know
the part of you
that sings so beautifully
in the midst of a melodrama
I seek to immerse myself
in the unadulterated cosmic firewaters
of your breath
I go to the wastelands of paradise
trailing a retinue of musical ribbons
I want to hear the symphonic roar
that accompanies the creation of life
I want to know
MOTHER OF ALL
what is the theme of your play
and why do we listen for other voices
from other places
behind the scenes
in the darkness?
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