To be taken in by the green:
it was everything reaching toward his fingertips;
the sweet dusky memoria of the mossing ground;
the green transforming the sky;
the suffocation of infinite shading.
He could feel it, but could not be consumed.
He would have taken the gnawing,
have taken over the night.
They have replaced the moths
and fireflies. They do not swarm to light
but water, as though they are compelled (now)
to learn to swim,
anticipating a second transformation
as water creatures.
Down at the lake you can find them,
millions of wings (colors)hovering,
feet trying the surface,
artists dabbing paint onto their brushes.
If you wait at sunset (breathing) beneath the water,
you will hear them coming,
waking from the canvas, feel their mass of wings
approach, burying you
(and your wingless fish lungs)
in quiet undulations.
He talks real soft and sly
like he was chasing his dead love come reincarnate
for his sliver gruff non-hands,
with tender lips and railman voice.
Then he breathes real heavy with rosy lungs and plunges,
resigned, with green virulent eyes
into his triumphant solitude – a king
and Oh what a beauty she passed blind
and buzzing into the frequented death world,
her sweet plum laughter
twirling like an old child - La La-
Ooo there is something monstrous in his (insideout) heart,
his black living beard
like the tail of a rat-cat-purple-snake
caged then unleashed on the world as Captain Threatened Mouse
at the foot of his jagged spiral come tumbling - He boils
out of the ground
heavy and makeuped with shadowed sorrow
rouged love only
for his sleeping gal with lord pretty curves
and cursive-woed lips - He grips
visible planets with dry tongue
and weeps not a tear until dusk