Let's begin by recalling
the faceless ones
from the mist of our morning.
The faceless ones are grimacing,
...
I would paint you, a picture-perfect portrait,
Subtle hues, every pigment from my palette,
Your animated eyes, slightly upturned nose,
Framed by garish landscape, coloured like Van Gogh's:
...
I love you with the fatal
fascination of the night-moth
to the flicker of the flame.
...
I have felt the weight,
The heat, the hurt, the hate,
The venom of vertical violence;
Heard the horizontal lines of lies,
...
Remember when this heart, an envelope,
Forlorn, lonely letter, lay unopened and unread;
And you, beautiful ballad, you a song whose name,
Dearest One, I knew from the first exquisite note.
...
See the hours scurry
like an orgy
of time lapse photography
or the credits of a movie
...
Under a shady samaan tree,
A bluebird sang this song to me;
That love is nothing but a worm
To hold and squeeze until it squirms,
...
I would melt the snow for you, my love,
Into icy rivulets and streams;
Then warm them into running rivers,
Rapid enough to take you from my dreams
...
Water, cooling water, sweeter centre,
Earth's core of molten sugar,
Pink pulp with oozing lava of life,
In its cool ambivalence never quite
...