Opium

This must be the golden river
Of the hidden valley of Chang
I can tell by the shape of their arrowheads

As the dance changes the violet bird
Flashes in his orange forest

The commandments are written
In Sanskrit on the teacups
And the still trees moving
glowing
flaming...

We wait under a bloom of stars
set in geometric display

We do not talk much
Until the birds cease

Someone wanders
In through the window

Standing stock still
Munching a piece of cheese

My shoes are red
I must complain