Waves of cantos and choruses
And lilypads of anything
Like flying carpets that are
nowhere
And all’s bugged with the scene –
Ah I wish I could fight out
Of this net of mistakes
And anxieties among others
Who wait in my silence
Till I end up my work
Which never began and
Never will end – hah –
Bespeak thyself not, soft spot,
Aurorum’s showed his Mountain
Top
Of Eastern be Western morning
To Indicate by Moon Magic
Constellative Stardom
of
Gazers
in Mock Roman
Arabian Kimonos,
the lay of the pack
in the sky