with abstract mannerisms
an impending ghost
waits in my shoes
standing idly at the devil's gate
hinting
it must be up to some mischief
the soul's voyage is sailing
in the opposite direction again
unseen my shadow kissed a veiled woman
(a loner sleep walking through a stranger's dream)
her face is a flowering thunderhead
her heart a beating steel drum of delirium
the firebird's ashes appear as a branch
of wormwood
it has ten thousand insects emerging from its darkness
it has the smell of an ocean above a cliff
it has five fingers of lightning on each tongue
each the size of a sparrow with the voice of a loon
the human logos gulled her wooden heart
the heart in the hands and feet of a tree
I talk to the beautiful machines
shoulder to shoulder
but bells are ringing in the text of my moods
under the influence
of the infinite ice
and I remain as I was
deaf and dumb
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