THE PROCESSION

A solemn procession
began to meander
through a river of glass,
dancing sedately with
the monkeys that hovered
like golden diamonds
around the sun.
It wound its way snake-like
toward a gleaming shadow
that hung from a hillside
in France.
Its marchers wore masks
made of crystals that tasted
of wine.
And they slithered their tongues
out of wholes in the masks
that quivered and throbbed
like the labia of voluptuous octopi.
The squirming tongues
reminded me of sea snakes,
and the spittle raining
from their tips
resembled some strange nectar
gathered from the flowers of the moon.
I saw the eyes that glittered through
the jewel encrusted masks,
golden like the eyes of some
godlike carnivore
that roared through the jungles
at dawn.
I expected soon that I would be devoured
and grasping my own genitals
I danced until I turned into a fire.