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On this precarious raft We blind voyagers Are swung like fools Around the sun Catapulted Toward The vanishing point. Half the world's asleep now, He thought, In Van Gogh's whorl The sky's black Riptide Swallowing all vanity Pulling everything All order and memory Back into itself; Yesterday will Never be More than what we dreamt-- Ever evolving toward The center We cannot touch-- He remembered The swallowtail He had caught in his net, As a child, The bright yellow wings Desperately flexing In his sweating clutch The pulsing of desire The scales rubbing off Like dandruff Even then he knew As the body convulsed, And yet denied, Beauty and love Will not survive Inside a jar; And now-- What protest can alter What time has wrought? Her smell fading From the silken scarf The pillow The collection of Birthday cards She kept in a drawer-- Forever expelled from The past And yet Bound like a slave To what is not. He lifted his glass of absinthe To numb the deep interrogation Of the iron-hearted Night Waiting Like a hostage For dawn's Pale sliver To release his thoughts--
And now-- What protest can alter What time has wrought? Her smell fading From the silken scarf The pillow The collection of Birthday cards She kept in a drawer-- Forever expelled from The past And yet Bound like a slave To what is not. He lifted his glass of absinthe To numb the deep interrogation Of the iron-hearted Night Waiting Like a hostage For dawn's Pale sliver To release his thoughts--
