Jungle Fevers

pong grawls eif douanier
a little shelf pitched window
the nightwatchman rolls along
his soft wet feet like fox hair brushes
inundating the fog to about
four billion be sea
because she was tossing them out the door!
each child that came into the little attic
down at street level where the classes began
if Madrid for Goya was an empty frame
hung on a corner in the alley of fireflies
the douanier had fallen asleep these ears
hung in a thriftshop eeries theramin for violin
picasso still toasting our sweet football rascal
but turning the key at each station in the fog
perhaps it is the unities of bodies and themes
thems pong grawls windows
the american rag time band
black car
streetlight
pasture
tel
from all the faded purples
to the upright crumbling oranges
a nightwatch
a nightwatch
a transparent grey castle