It’s Not Masks Now It’s Faces

Ancient names convulsed and veined and

Folded in continental eons these evasive gestures

Laid bare by geologic time cut by the me of my

Infinitely star-stained hiss my crucible my oblivion!

The telescope glimpses what pleasures what

Subjugated joys sluiced by love and motion?

Shall I lasso the jellied planets and pull them down?

Shall I punch the bludgeoned moon stunned by

Kisses the fine good-days the fine good-byes I who

Smell the fiery cage cloaked in downy offerings?

The cumulus cavalcade the pendulous predawn

Eloquence the eyes and tranquil blaze of morning!

Shall I my familiar answer your deepest soundings?

Shall I set trumpets pulsing toward constellations?