22 July 2007
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