Goddess, I come to you my neck wreathed with rosebuds, my head filled with visions of inf… my palms open to your silver nails… my eyes open to your rays of illum…

Broken ivories playing the blue piano of the sea. We have come

The house of the body is a stately manor open for nothing never to the public. But

Little egg, little nub, full complement of fingers, toes, little rose blooming

Meathooks, notebooks, the whole city sky palely flaming & spectral bombs hitting that patch of river I see from my eastern window.

You whom I hoped to reach by writ… you beyond the multicolored tangle of telephone wires, you with your white paper soul trampled in transit,

In the chest is caged bat who seeks escape through the mouth. He flaps his wings & the molars shiver.

In the glass-bottomed boat of our lives, we putter along gazing at the other world under the sea– that world of flickering

Parachuting down through clouds shaped like whales & sharks, dolphins & penguins, pelicans & gulls,

Most beautiful of poisons, border-plant, wearing your small green cowl, little friar, little murderer, aconitine flows

Sometimes the poem doesn’t want to come; it hides from the poet like a playful cat who has run

When the devil brings him, like a Christmas puppy, examine his downy fur & smell his small paws for the scent of sulphur.

He was six foot four, and forty… and even colder than he thought he… James Thurber, The Thirteen Cloc… Not that I cared about the other… Those perfumed breasts with hearts

The experience of fear is not an o… —J. Krishnamurti In dreams I descend into the cave of my past: a child with a morgue-tag