asura

I bought every book of poetry I could for twenty years then tore them up

and lay between their burning sheets till my heart stopped thumping and the time of colours came

the sky a Kandinsky terrace I stepped out onto its tendrils of meat and flowers and separated god from gold

it was a snow crow headache its speech song parchment on thigh tingling boughs though megalithic scratches woke the dawn in valleys deep with loam

- -

alien poet your eloquent stone will never speak to me