the blossoms were (chinese art)

Moaning in the jagged jade of sunshine
Swinging the parasols of God's fingers
On Ezra Pound's bow the peach burst
And the Perfume of sex mingled in the grass
of dead maidens' dynasties.

When the rising sun of mind's glare shuttered
The bits scattered glowing on the arid hills
In the morning consolations
Human limbs swayed in hell's hallucinari
Over pain killer's exposed tongue
It rolled out imagery's art
Then ah
               It was Byron's cur Lion
               God to hear him over his friend's pyre
               The boiling sea filled harare's fountain
               And lion philosophised "Eureka",

               From my twin thumbs
               Twin bolts of blue flame's incense
               Spurt out in chinese grace...
               Too late, the body of the fire
               Smouldering, and Heine's
               Hair stood in Africa Unity Square.

And blood dribbled from the blossoms
(Love today it's not a wish).