Where wolves hide the danger its yellow?
There is not even a fold in the lining of the stationary current day
not a fleeting blow against the gentle reverie of things. No bite
;
nothing to open a gap in these areas who claim their place in the world: my domain
immune
sure my little daily against the invasions of the dark.
Yet the threat comes as an evil glare, as a strident
or suffocated;
perhaps as a beat to break the fragile shell of appearances.
the unholy rebellion has spread to my home tribe
used before the ritual of my hands and the look is not.
objects acquire a secret intention at this time that the gap portends a bright Exhale
utensils made for the alienation and loss,
hold their breath for the attack indecipherable
transform their offices in this exasperated, unhealthy geometry of suspense.
gargoyles are now.
alerts are idols dumb question my power uncertain.
law has been changed:
my possessions I witness.
creeds have been moved: the beautiful
compliance under the sun dies of suspicion. And no word
things return unharmed to their humble places. And no catechism
retract this strange assembly that haunts me, this cruel court
me out again an unrecognizable paradise regained
half each day.
.
.
No. 14, reality Mutations (1979)
