A E I O

Your waking mind,
or even waking up
with you
once again--

Well, that's fine too.

A sonic disarray,
a plastique army,
guns twisting into
albino snakes,
a neon canker sore.

I reach to find the floodlit 
cavity yesterday
and three years
ago in Manhattan,
where a strange crooked
dentist told me about
picking a lottery ticket
from a dead man.

And you!
Walking on the outskirts of
Charleville, finding money
in the dead soldier's 
breast pocket

"A young soldier, open-mouthed, bare-headed..."

Convinced I would find you or
your ilk (to a nonexis tent),
we travelled in the blue
light of opium, the raining
drowse of city parks, 
for a time
your promise was
true:

Prometheus stealing fire and 
with subsidized returns

"I will tear the veils from every mystery:
mysteries of
religion or of
nature,
death,
birth,
the future,
the past,
cosmogony,
and nothingness.
 
I am a master of phantasmagoria..."