At Last, Beneath My Blooded Pen

The problem isn’t what to write.

That’s always been completely clear.
Oracularly come to light –
these clues about what might be here!

These dreams in dreams – articulate,

at last, beneath my blooded pen:
their matter, now particulate –
amassed and patterned. Ah, but when

will you take any notice of

these vatic veins – the blooms they yield? –
embrace their fragile lotus – love
the lilies in their flooded field?

My liquid syllables run thin

now they’ve discovered they’ve not led
remotely to your swimming in
the blood my blooded pen has bled.










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