the pools run
for a blue mile
and, they told me
(they always told me)
you gotta believe in
something
why not a pool of champagne
let your troubles
efervesce
let candied jellies
hang fat on the leaves
let tame tigers sleep
and the water cut the moon
into pink strips
exotic birds
through it all
an empty perch
fatly kerned:
"the golden bird"
the moon cartwheels
blackens and blanches, cools
my stolen bolts of cashmere,
dips the sand,
a dancer, unblinking,
jingling in my brights
No comments:
Post a Comment