Flying Music

[introAutumn is once more arriven. The man of the sky and the sun And the day crouches again To lick at his wound and peer From the cranny where he's seated And bent. The long of the coast Ash green and grey and smothered By winds wrapping and wrapping In wrappings of fog, winding round Woods, the whisp of his fingers Wrapping at her, she is dark In her sheets as trees are dark In the fog, his lupine form, His slow limbs flexed in the dark Light, his jungle eye gawking Yellow, obscure in the brush. He feels for his lobbèd off limb, The principle of storm cloud and thunder. He finds it purple and platshered. He senses an urging, not edgèd Nor rounded but easèd and urging For the church of perfect liberty. And we angels of desire, Theban harlots all, We have born witness to this hesperal Motif, this savage enjambment.

[turn 1Descends the caparisoned deer Draped in an ebony cuirass And armed with a gleaming edge, Straight to my groundings the candor Of him whom thunder makes great Once again, a rugged animal Sprung and fastened to form Slouching towards finality, But whether eternity or oblivion Is not to his mind revealed.

[countrt. 1.She is soft in the softness of her bed, Soft on brown heapings of leaves Dappled with dirt and electric. This cyanic buoyancy, supine And writhing or wrung out with weeds, She carries still intimations of Summer, Brown beside eidolons of ink. She the frigid nymph Dripping with spring water, flashing Her frills in an outlandish mode.

[turn 2Eyes painted white Black bafflings of bodies The deep well surrounded by stone Teeth loud like trumpets and legs Moved mothwards like light The tongue of the master makes sure now Not the master of day The master of night and of earth Slithers like fog round my lover The python clutches his bane.

[countrt. 2.Fur of the lynx and wine The bleating of goats the rage Orgies and dancings descendings For pleasure in temporary imitations Her hundreds of arms wrapped And squeezing and squeezing and squeezing. Her yellow eyes beckoning home The agony has got to be postponed Whistful like an aging dog The shrieking of glass on an urn.

[outroBones and dusty ways The limp weed bewrangled The silence of footfalls in shadow In a dank and leafless garage. This now besieges the head Turbid and pressled to bursting, Broke into blue, the jumbled Arrival, red flecked freckles Of green, retrogression of thought Burstling Eros tumbled Loudly down holty hills. And we slovenly harlots Feminine principle, bloody Not virginal, beheld and rejoiced The sun gulped down and destroyed, The Autumn's lascivious hagiography.