#2 1986
To his mother, on his blindness
When from this dark and burning hearth
Black milked from out the rage of day, I come
To tear blank limbs from spineless membrane mirth
And strew them, gasping manflakes dull
Flying folded in a world of wire,
Then something surges on the distant shore
And ancient screams can penetrate the daze
Of aerial tumult and the chthonic neutron waves;
Then flames take light and earthflesh unfolds fear
And this bright mandala is snowquake thunder here.