To draw, to dream, to kowtow

in front of the Devil's feet,

to bask in a fallen angel's heavenly hell glow.

Miracles from miracles from

Paradises lost and found.

 

Tree-less meadows, shadow-filled meadows,

the chromium clouds curtain seraphim suns,

falling through skies in dreams, in reality,

in love with the woman in the sepian frame,

in lust with the woman in the red rain coat,

falling through pools, reflection pools, mirrors and

looking glasses in sitting rooms, in parks, in

the street junky's water closet, into suicide bathtubs,

into baptismal fonts and holy tap water faucets.

 

Two moons, two suns, two horizons with nothing on the lines.

Desolations for your shadow, your reflection,

for you. Two wills frayed at their ends,

two souls squeezed & dispensed into gumballs -

pushed out of jars, out of containers, 

out of red glass houses for a couple silver Washingtons.

You look into the mirror and you see yourself

and yourself sees you. Making faces, out of the corners

of eyes, of mouths, twitches of smiles, of jeers,

of late-night starry lamentations, of secret new dawn weepings,

of stems and petals flora-henging

from ancient Mesopotamian east to future L.A. west,

full circles from ocean to land to ocean again.

 

Rocking and beating and

ripping of hairs, chest hairs,

pubic hairs, wails of pain muffled by 

human death bombs and gas

and walls crumbling.

 

Wails of child brides under older men,

wails of young boys and men being tortured,

wails of baby-boomers as their children come out to them,

wails of wives when they find their husbans in bed with other men,

wails of children as their beaten till breakage and bleeding -

for every good there is a bad to snuff it,

for every saving light there is an aching choking darkness.

 

To sob, to scream, to cry out as Job did,

to see it full of stars,

to see the otherside of the mirror,

to pass through the forbidden doorway.