I keep returning to the same old memory -
you, pointing to those evening panoramas.
Icons of what pleased you, always.
Remembering the Emperor, his toy city
offered to those almond eyes... trim reciprocity.
Song circles thus, thirstily, around its own joy.
A taut tautology, twirled tight, suspended...
(highway for hovering Frisbee dit-da-ditty-
datta data-hum). Only a neurotic project?
Overshot bridge to nowhere? Sunburst
heart like expunged orangutan, immersed
in his analysis (decomposing rancid intellect)...
and will it always be so? Furtive raven
scrapes surface of the road, Poe
weaves zig-zag after... pines solo
tremolo for Whitman... weeps later on
for Poe... I don't think so. Raven slices air
southwest, like a blind spot in the sun belt
of Orion, southwest... where fire felt around
wings of a Phoenix proscenium - the choir
belted out Messiah. In the continuum
song circuits around its immeasurable flame
as gull-be-dove, wheeling high... terrific frame
of golden lyre, Apollo-harbinger (incalculable sum) -
old hobo-love burns there, over the stream.
It never ends. It is longing-equilibrium's long
home's Big Rock Candy Mountain... simple strum
of a suspended 7th (33 light-yrs from yr sunbeam).
Improv Fontegaia, winding down.