A lamppost named Mark

this is part 5– read from the beginning

I.
Lamppost lost in vast, shadowy elsewhere,
turns down a shallow, unknowable street,
where names cost a smile, a drink buys a kiss,
and that great light turns on only in 
darkness.
How many eyes pass, from then until now,
in a blinking of a time.

“Hello, pretty Signpost.
Why, you must have a name as warm as your face.
Say again, Signpost?
You haven’t a voice?
Then lovely Signpost, Signpost love,
let me communicate love with a kiss.
But what do I see?  No lips for a kiss?
Then Signpost of beauty,
Signpost of grace,
let us gaze through failing vision,
for in eyes we have infinite space.
You haven’t even a single eye?”
Serial composition cursed whom?

Born half-blind, with one long leg, illuminating 
darkness wherever he wanders.
One shadow of light against the dark, casting
shadows of dark against the light.

So every moon rise recalls orchid eyes
of the beautiful Anna Signpost;
and each midnight hour, soaked in star showers,
deeper wades the luminous Lamppost;
till deep in his dreams, where seas of sand gleam,
she speaks to him, speaks to him, volumes and reams,
in his dreams by the sandy sea—in
his solitude down by the sea.






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