interdimensional stasis

dear AG/
dont know why this, now,
on the st. louis bus—thinking
of you and the letters,
your historyetched in
genetic chains/
it's coming up Samhain again.
Another centenary birth for you.
So now I am keeping careful notes
of your dreams, attempting to reap
the metaphor, the strictly crystal
cut of this frame & that image
of the woman with woven red flame hair
(like medea who I spoke of last year)
I'm thinking of you, of course
and the strictly personal power.
This all opens like a line shot
gone braille, touched with silvered fingers
pressing at your focal points.

And now I love you like the wanton you are,
expect your story to follow more of the
genetic spiral than the others.
In May, walpurgisnacht, I'll celebrate
with Gary D., burning your memory
in an iron bowl, calling it out,
fearing your incipient fate
and you—in Ireland? Are you
riding a storm on an interdimensional
timeline; are your words only experimental breath
in this personal relational geometry?

in this time
On the st. louis bus
this pen annoys me.
It will call no souls this evening
on the greyhound, lapsing
into commmon speech.