I can write you in the dream ministry
And the yellow ledger it has on
these porch skeletons and the diamonds
that hatch on your deserted moon villa
On the song you whisper in a siren’s tune
The kindle of an Indian fire and the phantasy light
sleeping on the church lawns
I will shine your face with a genie lamp
awaiting the hours you attend
When night turns spooky
You are half a chill
a perfumed blade near blue musk
This haunting with a kiss
In the museum’s scandal
in the madness, a thousand drowning
butterflies worn as as your garland
You are the drop hour by hour
the pearl cotillions falling in the gunman’s palm
The spreading oasis, a rusted clock hand
moving a shade in the pirouette
of the sleeping dance hall
Your face runs with shadow.
Radial ellipses, in this the magnetic symmetry
the blue spider veil draws
And this is where hours of visitation
grow, your friends with headdresses
of incense, spinning in the noir
This haunting, when night turns
spooky, for which you had to go
so far beneath the ground.