AND THE LAST

chopped blue banana sea
mashed behind frozen architecture

the ladders were drowning (&
we with them)

O, so joyous this
myth of visionary blue, red
between the lines
opulent
concupiscent
aviary of the dying breed
crème brulee in the sugar domes

for free
for free
for free
for me:

This ocean between us curdles, &
the last, the very last
time tells not:

not now
not then
not within the blink of an eye

—in my most secure moments, quite often the phrase—

nevermore: she was an anvil
black raven dead
in shades of green

& the willow stands tall
"& after the gold rush you too
will fall"

—to itchygoo park, that’s where I’ll be—

night will rescue,
night will bless
night will wrest vision from the earth.