Between the Moon and Th Sun (A Preface)

You would think it enough How this body wears its time Like a fading memory Of cycles In the prison of the sun Prisms, prisons, pyramids They are all the same Priests of muted things In the ritual of identity Of this sense of I Isolated from the world Seeking a mortality For matter Yet even after death I am there In the winds breath Making leaves drunk with green I am there In the root of history Primal and obscene Why do I tell you The prism of ignorance Makes Babel of everything Again and again We follow the trail of the moon Along the bed of rivers Whose water I carry In veins dissolving stone And after each dissolution There is enough mud For the aesthetics of pots Pots! Is this all the meaning left In broken shards of stars? I yawn for oil or wine ... Matters only As paradigms for blood or semen Something to seed Our conscious regimen