THE ARCH MNEMOSYNE
Oleander in the structured darkness
Coma child on the tablet of wine
And the tree is a very slow explosion
From the black bread of the prayer
To the east of the fallow regression
To never have what is attained
In all the epochs of emotive tissue
I adhered to like a weak animal
Shaking in the highway distortion
Of what will never be flowered
They did try to warn me and to call
But I was subservient to inertia
I remained afraid of the world
In a long avenue of mythology
To hide myself in the soft error
Just a rotational game of pleasure
Which put me in those rooms
For the image is a strobe of water
In the sacral of the world cave
A ladder to distended mornings
I was simply trying to escape
By burning the floor with stillness
Rummaging for the fetid alms
Like a fawn for lost money and toy
To make one city for my disdain
To make one city of my origin
As if a campfire room in each polity
Waiting for me to warp the shadow
Urged by the complete blue magnetism
And to rehearse hatred for every beginning