Ivry

In this solitary cell,
clouded with light,
sitting straight at his length,
burgeoning flame,
a flower,
prinicipal within the hollow,
the excrement of devine sorrow.
In a room like any other, in a room like no other,
in my twisted sheets, his hands are vines,
climbing unseen, warming shadows,
rituals unknown, and through him reborn.

In the bright pavilion,
dawn is spreading, at the foot of the bed, a calming foot,
White bars of light in the solitary cell,
no film that flickers, no mirrors at all.
La la la-la-la-la (repeated)
In the comic stillness, with his hands folded,
on this lovely morning, oh this lovely journey,
rituals, shadows, form reborn, circle the room, reborn through him.
La la la-la-la-la (repeated)
In the joyous, in the joyous,
in the joyous dead of night, the slash of words, sons of the dead.
The cross and the sword, the unholy mother
gather together in a room like any other.
La la la-la-la-la (repeated)
Hands like vines, climbs, climbs.
Glorious twisting, hand-like staining.
The dangling feet where he sits asleep,
where he sits asleep with his eyes wide open.
Dead hands refined, dead hands refined,
and the comic foot another step.
One step, then another, past the green chair,
past an image of himself.
Slowly, he goes from the room like any other,
toward the mountain, toward the mountain in Mexico.
Where the the soul quakes, where the heart aches, in Mexico.
Our sleeping ground, so scorned, adorned.
One step, then another, from the solitary cell.
In a room like any other, a man like no other,
an ivry, where time warns, an ivry, where time,
where time warns, for time, time to go.
An ivry, where time warns, time to go.
Tick tock (repeated)
La la la-la-la-la. (repeated)
Time to go.