Pleasurevision

Four columns and a swing

rope the rainbowed girl

through aquamarine leaves

leaving golden ash streams

in the wake of morning stars.

On the winding path

where the wind is the water,

we cross the marshes

we smite the slaughter,

we rhyme or rhythm

in a reefbed of feathers,

we shake the leaves, the soil,

the blood, the heathers.

So choose us night visitors

with frankincense and mirrorballs,

to fire arrows of desire

forged by Zen masters

into the foggy gulch

where seeds tremble the earth

And there behind our eyelids,

you may taste our honeyed pear,

our shimmer of sun,

our haze of heaven,

and the skin of the princess,

with her maroon doubloon,

her velvet helmet

her red yellow

her blue blue.