a follicle of light is falling
from the house of midnight
troubadours wrap our imagination
in jasmine and other heady fragrances
gypsy eyes steal salt water from tides
and return them to our adjacent lives
keep mustard seeds by the bedside
and burn irises like incense
hours fly by and leave us hurting
like piles of rusted shirts and clothing
her luck has begun to expand
but man still demands his fate
redecorate your cozy cottages
and receive your visitors' disguised hatred
make music burst throughout this garden
as lonely brushstrokes reach out to touch her bottom
i am moving, doing, and having faith only in the theater
she is carrying fetid water with feet bloodier
than those burning skyscrapers bound to her posterior