For Parliament & Theatre
And tonight, for Andora and me
Our town is our song.
Outside Cleveland,
Snow festers before Eve,
Olympus cannot bleed
within it: he is barren with heat. Like
a glowing barrister protesting in winter’s end. Yet I know
what Muse might say. Why not for blocks block.
Wherever we go together tonight.
At dinner we dined before Thelonious.
Cherry musk into pillowed walls.
Settled dust dusky qualms and spokes.
But how is love?
Somehow it is; soon afterwards it is just and all.
We understand. We ride.
We go to class. Both of us.
From the missing cars outside of Lenny’s Eatery
to out here and out there. We bleed red for Damascus.
Whenever we go together-
Tomorrow, tonight. Valentines.
Ramadan too, and Ramadans.
At your heaven’s door,
we sang before
Adonnis, who settled dust on our qualms and spokes.
Flying it without Noel.
And Andora sang songs.
I care not when Muse might say:
Olympus inside of Olympus.
Beyond the mountain, beyond the pale.
Is it Pegasus or Adonnis?
Screaming in pulp news.
Singing it silently-
Without wings or things
in eternal refrain.
I know all about Adonnis.
Though Andora
sang
songs.
