here is a rose

here is a rose thats perfume touches all the air its form infolding now the
shapes behind the night old bearded men and many watching from afar the
subtle changing in a flask - a sudden misting on the glass - the deep
downpouring of the golden root and the oil behind the root that tips the
night.

here empty sky shaping all the air a gentle tinkling of bells

sudden rattling bone on bone

immensities of space

here friendly old fatigue comes climbing up my back and in my ears and eyes
his sands a dusting the sudden golem presence of the always late corps
physique with its age old aches and pains, bladders and bowels that want
emptying this scratched that probed or fed or otherwise distracted this
presencing forth lost in forty-second street a nerve-print city with its
locks and burrowing ways door on door on door always closed always opening
onto some such utter wonder the miracle is no-one sees

the shapes the sounds the exquisite doings of the brain misting like film
on water sky-flower slow-motion exploding down a couple of million aeons in
your hand

nothing