ANOTHER SPRING NIGHT IN FARMERSVILLE, OHIO The sun is a gong hung low across the sky, windswept.earthdirty.sunwhipped: farmers wait inside their bones for the horizon to rise and beat the daylights out of the sun and call them from their long dungrows for a night. Your chastity's a song sung slow through long nights on muffled virginals: muting babies wailing to be born: golden arrows, a thong-strung bow the dream night. The night is calling: strong, gung-ho -- black hawk in flight. (Tonight? When one earthtired husbandman works me in his hands & periods this dry chaste day, waters these furrows hungry from famine? But no. Just one more wrongtongued crow in flight.) AH! NIGHTS Ah! Nights you were a harem and I the unmade Bedouin too long in the thirst. Past the black eunuch of the night I would steal to your tent, unarmed save the single arrow in my quiver. I'd draw sensuously back your damascene veil and let fly my shaft deep into your bulls eye arabesque-- Or: you were queen of the hive and I a drone among the honeys getting a buzz on and doing my job plunging among the dusky clover trying to pollinate the skies to flower the night with stars. To lose my only stinger would be to die-- Or else: you were madonna awaiting your Jealous Commanding God, The Spawner Of The Cosmos, Beam Of Light Made Flesh To Hold You In Your Place (while you shook in rapture for the coming of your Lord, i a small choirboy would steal into your unguarded churchyard and send a solitary firework into the cathedral's secret hole and hope it explodes high up in those beribbèd vaults and surprise celibate fathers from their sleep). EITHER ALZHEIMER'S OR THE LIGHTNING BLAST Whizzdizzyingly cruising The Moment, arrowing past all awareness: highway,enginewhiine,steeringwheeltrafficWorldsmuginnnngg past while we, preoccupied, reprise Creation, absorb Eternity and Logos, Eden/Gethsemane, Genesis-Apocalypse and the Night the Night, the private bleeding into the general, and Ouruniverse proxying for ego. Glorious cosmic fusion in an infinite minute. (or so it briefly eternally seems in our infini-tiny microverse) The ends of love are but two :your V8 plunges from the surface and, crucified like a butterfly in time, helpless consciousness heightened, you hover in slowmotion witness to the juggernaut earth's decay just as your metal-again grille begins to embrace solidity or: doomed foresight eludes as you rearend that lightless semi-tr MY WIFE My wife is the flag placed on climbers' highest crags. My wife is the mirror who patrols my appearance and makes sure all is fit and I'm vetted to grace the public. She's the armorer who's forged our love and honor. My wife is the ear who grants the pre-clearance for my poems' weight and wit so they're ready to face the critics. My wife is that fire to kindle and quell desire. WHAT I DID LEARN My mansard roof -- its shingles lost so very long ago. In Lhasa at Your temple, at that brave school in Lisbon, I studied my imago. My music group's hit singles stopped so many songs ago. I've learned my shakes and wrinkles but still I wait for wisdom.