your glow has diminished in the eternal now
leaving behind a thin trail of darkness
that is more of a feel a smell in the night
and i barefoot i with my oracle kiss
with some thought of solitude without faith
that leads me outward to you like love
mystical and shy without any art of persuasion
a saint on my last grain of desire
into the chambers of museums
and dressing rooms of oracle like
tourist Apollo with your ivory Egyptian
sailor eyes now hanging on the wall
eats the jelly of the bull
searching for stoned prophesies
from the measured light
stealing the ancient afternoons
mute as fish angel of sleep
among gold tapestries of flesh
and you breath into my mind holy smoke
behind your eyes fixed like ivory holy ghost
on the top of this ancient hill the most mysterious
objects are still hidden by modern manners unnoticed
myths dramas of euripides and sophocles and the tourists
and the new modern immigrants walking as playing the chorus parts
but aphonous archaic reliefs with fast movements of the new land
our bodies before the music starts behaving
as small amniotic universes
and our modernistic sad spaces are not for real
so our hands have the same form without motion
our walking dance mimic our dramas and our looks suffer
more and more in this expressionistic theatre of life
where albatross rise and dive
in the deep solitude of dream world
where scent of spring unmasks clouds
in the Aegean blue
where butterflies elliptical
fly into a serpentine stream of gold
with limitless steps to every climb
painting ethereal corral grounds
where sea Sirens sing Delphi oaths
seeking mirage of gods and goats
beyond the beauty to conceal
skin storm- driven passion play
of stone gaze and light images of lust and clay
we veiled velocity as chariots of embrace
in your blue cuneiform veins
i see my stillness
and the streaking spaces of bleeding
a surface of memory of lyric voices
whirling rivers of intimate eloquence
in your blue veins where all my fictions begun
dimmed light and perpetual motions
then vanished as serpents and lines
of sandstones of flesh
we slept in the ancient aegean rooms
in the hypotenuse hills
with honeysuckle and thyme
till our veins pulled the moons
and the rhythms of our tangerine minds
