The Stargazer (falls down a manhole)
Waking in bed in the street
White as slate thats never been.
Still being born for every birth that drops
Yet twice as pregnant.
Hardly coming home that night
Nor any hour that strikes.
Paces are wide, aside, and lovingly conveyed
To pass all life to contemplation.
Moon and face beam as one
Clothed in the finest reflections.
Oh, but Im wide awake
As I plunge the depths of sleep
Tickling fair dreaming shores
Where whales wash folklore clean,
Harms albatross, hearts of oak
Now luck-less, not unlucky!
Glands are fed from rivers deep inside
Reservoirs glad untold . . .
To pitch roadway wares to feel, in saintly steaming dews
A purity that bears a million exploring ships of steel,
Soft beholden eyes set for skies high standards ~
Céleste: oh tell me you see me there!
To drift with scarce people seen, in the street of dreams,
No head turns in wonder, no awe caresses;
Silver bullets fall sour to earth, bitterly repentant,
While over my head and plain (unseen)
In telescopic transfixed ardour,
These candle-burners scorch the hand of sight!
A heart fond of beating, like mine (much in vain
Though happy so, bountiful in its skylark reflect)
Leaps up to mist many rare fields
With tidings harmoniously collected;
Im pleased to bide awhile and whisper low
Words to farewell lament a conscience spent,
Half-light lent to stand intent
And grant a patter of vision.
Propagation speaks for itself when needs be said,
So for eyesight.
Grant me no wisdom for I have vision:
Three oclock last night it was there, and in my
Encompassment, my thirst and roaming aperture,
I caught myself a starstruck helper in trouble,
Stealing some newspaper conscience.
Warnings reluctant given, in the tearful folly
Of a clouded room.
“Theres time for trust,” I said
And War Boils said “No,”
But so, deaf ears can be useful.
The man is whole the manhole holds,
My bed the rock the earth folds.
I wont look down nor search low for traps
I wont care for torpor in detail
Theres such a height above
Oh . . .