In Their Obedience of Electrical Crosses...

In their obedience of electrical crosses
Aligned from end to end,
In their water vision of sorcery
In the treasure of steep mountains,

They never see my soul in the sticks of flame,
A prostrate vassal of dark flesh
With hard knees bent on the silver floor.

Lonely reveries in the tall trees,
Caved faces marvelously stirring about,
Deep lips and heavy brows,
Old myths in the sharp teeth and crackled hair,
Costumes decorating the looming moon’s
Half hidden obscenity.

Though dancing until the fires ended
And danger was forgotten,
As a friend emerged in the warm nausea,
And the soft beast was embedded in relishment
Under the sugar flame clouds crumbling to the stars,

Eyes at the end of laughter,
Ready to begin the journey into the serious solitude.

And all that was left in the forest moonlight,
A breathing pain of vision,
A violent crusade of shadow-shaken limbs
And voices in the leaves’ shiver deeply chanting:

Are you able to die?
Are you able to die?