Michael Horovitz

If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is
poetry. --Emily Dickinson, Letters

If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, infinite. --William Blake, The Marriage of Heaven & Hell

    New skies alight in perfum'd dazzle
weightless green again-
no I--where went
the ground all one electric
Aaaah the fierce energy in those motorcycles
--A milkbottle flute
pierces clouds of indigo
and scarlet lake guitars
erupt their excalibur
kaleidoscope of rainbows
flecked with phosphorescent manna
    Walk now     brave
this blinding     white sun-
all doors opened     Quietly
voices trickle through
little feet through
the floor     Fingers
sift silt from clay
between the tiles
feeding worms
the eavebirds' playthings
Domestic ranges wilde-
i see     what I never have seen

Yet know it will go from me
--I want too much
to grasp and hold the key
turn over to others as if
from me     I reach out
to clasp and know
the beams of love
dissolve in my hand
fall-out of the damned
of nations-
Man's covenant     with the earth
and air     betrayed
The radiance turns to hail
I pace a crazy pavement joyless
         above is
              sections of the
world gone
brought down
Trapped in my image
Mine owne--
Halls of anguish
Mirrors of trembling


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