No Palms

    No palms dolled up the tedium¹， no breathing wind. No problem was the buzzword then， their way to go.

    In truth， my case was black as sin， a thing to hide，In that they feigned² to find me sane³， so not to know.

    Someone brought in a medium. Anathema⁴！

    Some clown sewed up my eyes， he said it wouldn't show.

    Confusing hands with craze， they howled， "Let's cut them off." Confusing， too， their spies， my lies without an echo.

    Time and again they stitched my mind with warp⁵ and woof. Time pounded in my ruby⁶ heart， doing a slow，

    Slow dim-out in that lupanar， slow take， slow fade，Slow yawning like a door. "Hello，" I said. "HELLO."

    There， flung across the room between inside and out，There must have shown itself to me. . .an afterglow.

    With such a blaze to celebrate where centuries meet With time itself， how could I hesitate？ Although

    Still trapped in the millennium⁷ I knew I had Still time to blow some kisses. Look up， there they go！