The Line of the Man

the line of the man - half-
formed in this light - is
set like the mist around
stars - His
hair is an air of some heavenly
where - His
heart is a dark path to
Mars - His
mouth is the north and the south of
dimension - His
throat is the total of
time - His
shape and his mass are the fact of
maths - but

his
mystery

is
of

the
sublime

Customer

As I put the lay-by through
she tells me
she saw the gown in a drug-induced vision
after an operation
and knew
it had to be
hers.

My Bowl of Roses Speaks to the City

I went into my room and found
my bowl of roses speaking to
the city

craning over the window sill
addressing the buildings
below

And their friends the trees
put fingers to lips
to show

the spires how
to hear

Golden God

my golden god
stretches long

feline lines
that rest upon

a rounded mouth
a raven head

an amber eye
a tousled bed

(and he rises
rolling the morning

on his tongue
like a lion

lifting the sun
to the sky

my golden god
heavy

with the love
in his eye)

Sunburn

How I love a little sunburn!
To roast my ghostly skin!
To remind the soul inside it
of the mortal meat it's in!

The City was the Sea

The City was the Sea
this morning

sharp air sprayed with salt

blasts from elsewhere
everywhere

all hair flung -

And huddled like birds
the herds of commuters
were wordless, just
set

on getting where they needed to get
without getting
wet

While the Child

While the child dances in ecstatic
rapture

moving her fine, feline, sublime human
instrument with

grave strokes

pulsing, pausing

holding her four-year-old
face in an ancient
shape

moving in time with the
history of her
species

we talk about the musty smell in the new bathroom.

The Authority of Night

presses a firm hand
to your head

Quiet, now.

commanding as a queen

bidding you give in
to serene service

follow the orders
of her dark

her total shifts
of shade

gently bow

understanding what she means
when the mistress that is

Night

tells you how
to give in

Bakery Heiress / Bread Orphan

The bakery heiress
slips like a shadow
between the window
panes

head-to-toe
designer dress
a picture of Parisien finesse
but inside - a tale of woe -
the pains

of an orphan whose
very fortunes rose
and fell with the doomed course
of her parents'
plane

and so,
she and her sister, now
multi-millionairesses
are two
mournful, bread
dauphins.