Alev

In a thunder dimension of a new alphabet

She is the present tense,

An astonishing revolutionary reality

Of my burning Nijinsky.

Her smile is the stamp on my postcard, the bow

In the cloud of my melting dance

And I become now a dervish whirling

In your electric field.

Poem on Noticing My Bald Head

Brail kernels rescind in slabs of stone,

Decrepit obelisk at the forecourt.

The centre is cyclic bare; now will blasted

Stalks of hair sprout!

Peradventure the grisled periscopes

The cloistered dialectics of the Muse

With epithets on base drums.

Then must I not dialogue this Sabbath spatial scale,

Cobbling my mixed wine, while I glare

At both the shadow and the passing light?