A NIGHT DISTINCT AND WONDERFUL

The razor sharp moon sliced the sky,

dripping through forests of hands.

Screaming, we danced

through the showers of blood,

these ostrich dreams which ran

through the labyrinthine rivers

of elephant wine.

Was it I who sang the arias of doom

or did the sky

fling off its shroud

and skip in naked wonder

over landscapes

ripe with grey petunias

and vermillion ottomans

on which the snails of verdant passion

raised their horns,

a toast to fiery lust?

When I embraced your seething storm,

the undulating flesh

of a thousand dancing mermaids,

you turned and laughed

at the algebraic method

with which the pompous towers

had turned our platypus dreams

into the calculations

of a flattened scheme.

But what could stop

our serpentine dance

of tangle vines

of dripping, colored foxes,

juicier than the daring escapades

of a strangely simian outlaw,

this man whose razor

was the laughter of the moon in heat

and whose chorus

was a howling ocelot

jumping from the treetops

toward the stars?