DAY 9

      ...and when your face rises above the
dunes I see only the feathered doors to the
ferocious citadel of the birds.
... and a wind, cauterized by the silhouette of
grimacing red clouds, roars in ovation to
greet me
... and the barbaric splendid stars pullulate
like rattan strands in a distant eye
... and I sink between the pulse of time,
winding and unwinding the flesh from my
bones
... listening, listening, to the black mirages
crackle
... supremely alien once more!
... distinct flowers of blood weaving crests of
pixilated loam where green orange polyps
chaotically breathe and flashing twisted
spindles incinerate their salmon shadows
... and I dance, my feverous organs, my
daughters, my sons, as you taught me,
crashing out of your dead stingers
... homage and vision, dream and disgust
... where you are, where you were, where
you'll be