Dream Song 92: Room 231: the fourth week

 Something black somewhere in the vistas of his heart.


Tulips from Tates teazed Henry in the mood
to be a tulip and desire no more
but water, but light, but air.

Yet his nerves rattled blackly, unsubdued,
& suffocation called, dream-whiskey'd pour
sirening.
 Rosy there

too fly my Phil & Ellen roses, pal.

Flesh-coloured men & women come & punt
under my windows.
 I rave
or grunt against it, from a flowerless land.

For timeless hours wind most, or not at all.
 I wind
my clock before I shave.


Soon it will fall dark.
 Soon you'll see stars
you fevered after, child, man, & did nothing,—
compass live to the pencil-torch!
As still as his cadaver, Henry mars
this surface of an earth or other, feet south
eyes bleared west, waking to march.

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