The book a dark museum, full of dangerous things,
beautiful machines, beings who turn their faces with
a wash of wings to another face.
The dark gradations of vines climbing over stone, colored
leaves flickering and beneath them clean red stems
and the blue berries soft and deadly, but I want to taste
them--sour or sweet--sharp or flat.
The mad enticing geometry of colored pictures, who turn
on their side to show a tattooed back, who turn their
hand to show a claw.