The whole downtown was strewn
with the weeds of the flesh,
the stringy foliage of death,
as we emerged, dedicated to a new desire
for life. O, how we wailed for it!
For my part, as a member of the organization,
I committed myself to a roar on par
with famous, animal roars.
A whole history of Africa ruptured
from my throat. Lions, tigers, trumpets.
To the south, green fields and leaves
that stuff puffy comforters.
There, in that golden slouch, the light
moves back and forth across the book
of landscape. Professors and artists
gather to discuss the particular color
of flame. Again the city assembles! Soon
enough a university is sitting in
the driveway. Soon young children
are reciting gruesome prayers. A whole
history enacts a sort of future history.
There, in the blue dawn,
women and men sorting something
that may need sorting.
There, a tender glance or a gesture
that is. What is is hard to pin something to.
For instance, her name, a collar to
be draped about the nape of the neck.
Her name was really just a thunderstorm.
A casserole to be baked. Man,
we're talking, like, Shakespeare!
Shit you wouldn't read if you had to!