October mornings
No one is claiming to be insane
And though it’s tilting
No one’s explaining the labyrinth of colors
And winding in amazement
And from the afternoons of still life
To the evening’s portrait frames
Do not intend to be the end
And the paint is only rain
Matador magicians
With the pendulums of their hands
Are throwing questions
Into vacant corridors of waiting
Then stand back to laugh at
Circles of confusion, lines of answers
And the shapes from sudden pressure
Of their face against the glass
Are the signs upon their capes
A mеtamorphosis
Of rainbows pass into eyes
The cardboard stop signs
Announcе the coming of the cellophane moon
Crashing through its phases
The open night is hanging
Mind-cloud posters from the universe
The stars are moaning for a double
Then explode from loneliness
Guitars and flute trills
In cloaks of string quartet
Untangle the morning
Electric dances are dangling the sky
With fireworks and candles
And from the afternoons of still life
To the evening’s portrait frames
Do not intend to be the end
And the paint is only rain
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