(a show in verse)

I. METRO FANTASY

Color is still not space you try anyway to hew through
this black night facets of light sparkle and a double
sits in the pane opposite the painted doll faded
a rapid line of movement saws his neck
an underground river dried up dinosaurs crammed together in the night
tusks bones broken mirrors voices of apparitions —
this is all the setting for a painting your neck is bleeding
and your head in the pane starts up and your head
through the thickness of a stone sea through a Dnipro River fish and block of ice
through libraries stacks burning a path for itself
a minute flies solemnly to a carnival explosion
its lips move with exertion: I-am-a-fly-ing-head