I.

the emperor
sleeps in a palace of porphyry
which was a million years building
he takes the air in a howdah
of jasper beneath saffron
umbrellas
upon an elephant
twelve foot high
behind whose ear
sits always a crowned
king twir-
ling an
ankus of
ebony
the fountains of the emperor’s
palace run sunlight and
moonlight and the emperor’s
elephant is a thousand years old

the harem of
the emperor
is carpeted with
gold cloth
from the
ceiling(one
diamond timid
with nesting incense)
fifty
marble
pillars
slipped from immeasurable
height,fall,fifty,silent

in the incense is tangled a cool moon
there are thrice-three-hundred
doors carven of chalcedony and
before every door a naked
****** watches
on their heads turbans of a hundred
colours
in their hands scimitars like windy torches
each
is
blacker than oblivion

the ladies
of the emperor’s
harem are queens
of all the earth and the rings
upon their hands are from mines
a mile deep
but the body of
the queen of queens is
more transparent
than water,she is softer than birds

                2.

when the emperor is very
amorous he reclines upon
the couch of couches and
beckons     with
the little
finger of his left
hand
then the
thrice-three-hundredth
door is opened by the tallest
****** and the queen
of queens comes
forth
ankles
musical with large pearls
kingdoms in her ears
at the feet of
the emperor a cithern-
player squats with
quiveringgold
body
behind
the emperor ten
elected warriors with
bodies of lazy jade
and twitching
eyelids
finger
their
unquiet
spears

the queen of queens is dancing

her subtle
body weaving
insinuating upon the gold cloth
incessantly creates patterns of sudden
lust
her
stealing body ex-
pending gathering pouring upon itself     stiffenS
to a
white thorn
of desire

the taut neck of the citharede wags
in the dust the ghastly warriors
amber with lust breathe
together      the emperor,exerting
himself among his pillows throws
jewels at the queen of queens and
white money upon her nakedness
he
nods
          and all
depart through the bruised air aflutter with pearls

                3.

they are
alone
he beckons,she rises she
stands
a moment
in the passion of the fifty
pillars
listening

while the queens of all the
earth writhe upon deep rugs

i am
the lion
under your bed

i am
the noise
waking the dead

i am
the boy
banging his head

i am
the trust
reduced to only rust

i am
the struggle
of going completely under

i am
the life
that broke in the night

i am
the monster
in your open closet

i am
the woman
screaming ****** ******

i am
the lie
that infected everything

i am
the secret
you hide from yourself

i am
the demons
swimming through your mind

i am
the honesty
that you left far behind

i am
the dust
on your recorded thoughts

i am
the allegiance
left trampled in the dirt

i am
the power
given to your pain and hurt

i am
the sadness
that defines your person

i am
the reality
that numbed your heart

Let the world know that poetry
is great.
There is passion in its rough, gilded grooves
(I've seen it all)
Dance shoes under
(I've tried them on)
And overall, wicked smiles
(they have shown on my face).

I've read the Alice blue tears of a grown man
lined up like a tree so that
each line is a branch.
I've read all the things
that you think don't love each other,
but they simply do.
Poetry loves you--people and poems are
just the perfect
dance partners.
I've seen it all--

I've seen that crazy look
on a poet's face.
It is the best form of every thing
which is only tangible

through a poem.

You're nothing like
a good back massage
after a really long day.

You're more of a toe
that has been stubbed
off a coffee table
at 3 am;

You **** me off.

Every body's talking but i can't hear a single thing.

You slipped off my wings and made me human again.