MAD SONNET 1
THE PLUMES OF LOVE ARE BLACK! THE PLUMES OF LOVE ARE BLACK!
AND DELICATE! OH!
and shine like moron-eyed plumes of a peacock
with violetshine and yellow on shadowy black.
They SPRAY from the body of the Beloved.
Vanes shaking in air.
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AND I DO NOT WANT BLACK PLUMES OR AGONY . . . AND I DO
NOT SURRENDER. And I ask for noble combat
to give pure Love
as best I can
with opened heart.
Love,
I have not seen you before and you’re
more beautiful than a plume!
Stately, striding in Space and warm . . . ( Your
human breasts! )
LET ME MAKE YOUR SMILE AND HEARTSHAPED FACE IMMORTAL
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YOUR GREY EYES ARE WHAT I FINALLY COME TO WITH MY BROWN!
AND YOUR HIGH CHEEKS, and your hair rough
for a woman’s — like a lamb. And the walking virtue
that you are!
—Michael McClure
Happy Sunday.
Harold Budd / Brian Eno – The Pavilion Of Dreams (1978)
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