Winter's Muse

Flattened pumpkins are left out
to fertilize the forlorn fields.
The black bird sings strange notes
from the frozen thousand-fingered bower
and primitive icicles
hang from the skyscrapers and ivory towers...
the blood red rose and its thorns
are with sweet frost adorned
and grey clouds, lost,
wander the winter sky
as fleets of birds go sailing by

Winston's black dog
wanders the ice-dusted boulevards,
the oak-grown bone-yards,
and the sad foggy streets
as snow alternates with rain and sleet
(hard frost with cold, sun-lit dew)...
and Apollo retreats
in sullen and early defeat
shadows pushing
at the edges of the working day

The city is warmed
by the leaping blood in its wires
and in every street-light burns
a beatnik fire...
Bleeding oil from the fangs of fatigue,
steel Hercules wrestle the slick
and fierce white tiger highways
sailing rows of bright red tomatoes
to the warm grocery stores

Outside, the bracing wind
howls Shiva's libretto
in cadences of Wagner.
Inside, lovers hibernate
as star-struck bears
in soft and cande-lit lairs...
leaving for awhile
the profitless world
to its work and its cares

The snow falls and falls
on forgotten roads and blocks aglow
from Tokyo to Toronto
growing a vacuum between Fall and Spring
mellowing the teeming world
in harsh and timeless innocence