8:00 am
Up and about
1
Last night,
a cataract of flame
flowed down
the cathedral wall.
A black wooden bull
danced in the square,
sparks struck fire
from his horse-hide hair.
A red speck on my shirt
burned through to my skin.
Today
a heart of fire
burns in an iron barrel:
who will be chosen
for the daily sacrifice?
2
A sharp blue guillotine
poised between buildings:
the morning sky.
Scorched circles,
open mouths:
wide-open butterfly eyes
burn holes in the crowd’s
dark cloud of a face.
A street musician
stands in the shade
beneath the arches
playing a marimba.
The sun tip-toes
a sombre danse macabre
across bamboo keys.
Sunlit bubbles float
dreams across the square.
rogermoorepoet 
I suggest you try leaving all capitals and punctuation out. Also, very cryptic style. Your lack of the use of the adverb suggests you are a reader of Stephen King. This is, very sincerely, the first poem I have ever read that lacks the modern rhetoric. I think the poem should be much longer. Jane
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Incredibly beautifully stupid: did you really get that as a comment? Well: in all honesty, you are way, way beyond that now.
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Yes, from the League of Canadian Poets contest back in 1990.
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“Sunlit bubbles DANCE dreams across the square.” One re-writes and one still hopes!
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Thanks, Tanya. I have revised it about four times this morning. I think it is where I want it to be right now: “Sunlit bubbles float dreams across the square.” One writes and one hopes!
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Scorched circles,
open mouths:
wide-open butterfly eyes
burn holes in the crowd’s
dark cloud of a face.
There is so much to think about in this poem! I’m still loving it…
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