To dream of baboons and periwinkles...None of them are
strange...Disillusionment of Ten O’Clock...Wallace Stevens
The night you haunt my house
I dream of baboons and periwinkles.
The periwinkles play blue guitars,
the baboons stomp on the green
moss at the feet of your ghost.
You wear your white flannel
nightgown. “Nothing is strange,”
you say, “I don’t want to be too
flashy – to knock your peacock
feathered socks off. There’s no
need for passion fruit peignoirs
where I live now. Nothing is strange.
Tigers are always caught. The weather
is always red. Come dance with me.”