By Roy Dean Doughty
Written 5/15/08

The reds of this ornamental Maple’s
Wavering leaves might as well have acquired
Their pigmentation from the morning’s
Rising heat as from their manipulated genome —
Deep blaze being the feel of the day
As well as its color. The Mullahs warn
That somewhere it is written, perhaps
In the Collar of Pearls, that our cooler,
More nocturnal devotions can always
Be brought to a boil. Thus they urge us
To ignore these swarmings of gnats
Winding up the infernal columns of the day’s façade,
And to confine our attentions to architectural
Dogmas whose vertical divisions are fixed
Forever in mosiaced bits, things we have seen before,
Not things that bob and hum in the morning’s sparkle.
The Mullahs may be adamant, but they are in trouble.
The spine disease of the fundamentalists’ usual
Neuropathy is making an unprecedented demand
For gratification. Luminous beings are flying
Through the Porch and in spite of those cylindrical
Mechanisms attempting to ratchet closed the port to our ecstasy,
Our ears are abuzz with the gossips of golden retainers,
And our sight adrift in a sheen of fiery leaves.

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