She’s putting the pain in painter again,
and it’s not just ice, but fire, too –
& there are sperm sprouts in the mulch swamps,
& there are hotbeds of uncertainty awash in mercenary wine;
So watch a woman’s joy and strength in Music,
and watch her transform,
As your nights do you,
and what do I ride for?
I saw the Headless Horseman
glide across coyote lawns;
I saw false jewels sparkling in the hills,
I’ve drunk from the fountains of fear
Under gray ceilings incontravertable, and I’ve
sucked hot sounds from the seminal earth,
while playing python games in the mind,
playing with love and hate together,
trying to read the list of loves gone,
with eyes that drowned long ago.