ParadiCe

If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is
poetry. –Emily Dickinson, Letters

If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, infinite. –William Blake, The Marriage of Heaven & Hell

    New skies alight in perfum’d dazzle
weightless green again-
no I–where went
the ground all one electric
Aaaah the fierce energy in those motorcycles
–A milkbottle flute
pierces clouds of indigo
and scarlet lake guitars
erupt their excalibur
kaleidoscope of rainbows
flecked with phosphorescent manna
    Walk now     brave
this blinding     white sun-
Perspectives
all doors opened     Quietly
voices trickle through
little feet through
the floor     Fingers
sift silt from clay
between the tiles
feeding worms
the eavebirds’ playthings
Domestic ranges wilde-
i see     what I never have seen

Yet know it will go from me
–I want too much
to grasp and hold the key
turn over to others as if
from me     I reach out
to clasp and know
the beams of love
dissolve in my hand
fall-out of the damned
of nations-
Man’s covenant     with the earth
and air     betrayed
The radiance turns to hail
I pace a crazy pavement joyless
         above is
                      atomised
              sections of the
world gone
                  grey
brought down
Trapped in my image
Mine owne–
Halls of anguish
Mirrors of trembling