Interior Suck of the Night

by Philip Lamantia

          Narcotic air
          simple as a a cone
          interior suck of the night

                           blood shot eyes of my geni
As the first branch of clouds hang for the infinite
I go across streets with candles aimed for lost windows
your nothing engraved on a cherry button heart
your smile folding over the tables of the law

                                            in a butterfly’s dream
             windows open on broken stem of pipe
                               chimes, cuneiforms
        of the marvelous and you! my innocent!
a shadow encrusted on a light beam
your eyes
                    the daughters of your eyes!
I see the salt spoon of the sibyl’s you crooked
my hair my threads my nails with!

from Ekstasis, Auerhahn Press, 1959