live at the Apollo and they shouted

after all day being dazzled dazzling
it’s night for Apollo that damned lyre
of course the he and she gods

the queer gods the polyamorous of every hue
play the phantoms
of the me and you

from our blister pack of sorrows
we pop out our dei ex machinis
de la nuit, cry

crane me down Scotty
lower me into your black
incinerator of dreams

where Bosch fields coruscate
election smoke chokes
and nothing’s everywhere

darkling through the mauve that was my mind
I scry your being unkind
to what’s left of the you you left behind

and now that nothing left occurs
in nothing much at all
it’s time to call the sun god’s favours in

improbable but likely to be true
here comes yet another dawn
for me and you