Brian Howe




Chaos in the jungle

gym, chaos in black cars.

You will fall in love

with a series of rooms.

The sun will open up

your heart, even during

wintertime. Sunspots

in your darkest watches,

shadows on the daybed.

Music plays as you leave

paradise and falls silent

on your return. Chaos in

the alphabet, chaos on

your tongue. You will fall

in love with a series of

lamps, with a currency

valued on light, not gold.

Black cars on the Western

skyline slide open their doors.

The moon will crack up

if you hold very still, falling

in love with a series of

moods. And there comes

a point when the dancing

stops. You will contend

with what a monster is,

wolf intervals in belfries.

Chaos in the Western

scale, chaos in the sun.