For Naomi (scribed 12/19, much tinkered with) Love is a shadow. To love is to accompany, staying quietly at hand through the crowded daytime streets, slipping between your beloved and blank indifference. Dress in grey. You are the unnoticed protection You are the skin. But shift to black when night comes. Then, with all the books put aside, all sagas dropped like stitches, you will rise and go to wander through the dark at a distance. Avoid streetlights.  Their round orange pools will betray you into shards. Sidle up occasionally in silence; create the trailing   sensation of a presence... Be the echo behind, the loping sentinel And sometimes, like a shadow, you will be called upon to emerge around from anonymity And lead ahead, fully known, a kissing, beckoning negative shine. quicksilver (also scribed 12/19, but not tinkered wi' mooch) a smattering of roses the sunset shouting   its last bronze joy     to the sky whitewashed adobe walls made warm and swollen   with early September he is on a balcony eyes lit by the West the wind is lifting him   so that   his wingtips are made of mercury. now he sails out over boundless roofs tasting a harsh suspension   of air sharp ripened. it is gritty with dust   and smashed illusions moist with blood and fever. the horizon stretches out   to acknowledge him his hair buoyed on dreams   seeping up from his mind as he sails blithely seaward he is sleeping on the wing.   you, you took your face off and donned a fresh one smiling like a whore shucking her dress. it lies crumpled in the corner faded and sad your moral integrity, crazy quilt patchwork.   carrying a pencil between her teeth like a rose to tango.   those are fragmenty bits - hmm... trouble brewing hush, hush the faucets say shut the door to your shame and bury your woes beneath the kitchen i burned off the quill of my pen for i have never liked such bourgeois pretenses more trouble brewing (written one minute later) i am up so late the digital clock has succumbed to sleep. i have been writing madly since the absorption of some other   printed lunacy dropped the notion wriggling into my ear. i don't ask for these tittering words to come but they overrun the refined parlor in my head and must be extracted like rotten teeth.   Further blabbery and sputtering is available for your enjoyment in Somacrow's unpretentious little smurfhole. Visit here here ----> http://members.aol.com/somacrow/ back to the chronicles of a death foretold (la poesie) or scurry to a netherland of unravaged beauty (la corpsey!)