|
MYTHOLOGICAL
INSTANT
Even
now I know this date in ancient history
The
fetish birds have come to roost all gathered here
like
phosphenes of a thousand stark and leafy
dreams.
Now
I now why Van Gogh painted crows it wasn't
death
but panoply of shadow gods all looking for the
light
within the Golden Field.
I
see old friends and lovers places words arrayed
upon
white dazzling sheets where all threads meet
to
recount stories concentrated in a single gesture.
I
know destruction revolution painting prison
politics
and flight to unknown object of the blood the
sun
the maze the desert orgy feats of ecstasy in far-off
cloudy
regions of the mind.
I
know I well in all twelve houses of the zodiac I
feel
the twin horn string and fin I feel the arrow
pincer
mane and water bucket equilibrium.
I
know that every smile that every touch that every
landscape
vision every poem phrase and TV tragedy
is
part of myth and everything erased in
bath
of stars.
I
know I owe a debt to endless list of names
illuminations
beauties thoughts and
every
one that crept or fell in
to
the center of my self.
I
know a living portrait haunts my actions every
time
I enter mausoleum gallery I run out laughing
everybody
thinking victim of the art disease or
animated
still life prisoner escaped from
19th
century English canvas.
I
recognize the mosaic pleas of other mythic people
looking
in the café meadow forest drawer and street
for
moving cyclorama pieces parts to make the
epic
motor run to rhythm earth epiphany.
I
thought my steps were lost in space
they
come again as leitmotif
in
standstill cycle orchestra
beginning
ending every note.
I
know that I know nothing
never
will I go on foot yet
mounted
on an ox and all the same
like
being in the show and watching too or
bobbing
on the current concentrating
on
euphoria the funny scenes
the
creaky old machines
behind
the curtain wheezing in the dust
the
color and the pathos.
And
then the gong the sun and hunger flush the
Phantoms
from a host of brightly colored peaches
In
my head I burn all books like sunken fleets
that
never made in to the
wars
and trails are off again to telephone directory
addresses
California fog Tibet in backroom third
floor
sanctuary no I am not crystal ball or mirror
but
still I know this day as date in future history.
|
