[Orange Fever]

Night: beautiful tears,
And he walks. Three ciphers faint,
It is the year of fever.
Orange dreams, dreams
Naked like Bowery,
Keeping safe each city block.
The taste of
Madness whirls—
Its patternless pattern
Down the streets—a sign
I am come. Time:
5 a.m.
The tree waits
And the village looks.