Dear Mother,
The garden party was a disaster!
the day was fine, poured wine
endless plates of amuse-bouche
even brayed conversations
about men work women,
what it means to be living people
well, what does it mean to be people?
there is no question
but the night! O the night!
a gale broke into the garden
everything exploded, my eyes burst,
a hurricane of colour
broke over our rabble
you could not tell a person
from the dahlias, a poodle
was swallowed by a laurel bush,
have you ever heard a yowling hedge?
our lobster dinner hung off the moon
like a monstrous earring
God, a man with an
orchid for a head, whispered
vainly as his hands
stubborn vines that --
Ahh! the beaded light, I wore
a necklace
of black suns
In all honesty mama, I left
with oil on my hands
And a fire behind
