Poem for Assessors

Adapted from July, 2007 notes.

Lions are not storming
into my room right now--
neither are beautiful spotlights.
They have been taken, are being
dragged away as sources along this
gravel that is gray now and gone.

You must stop worrying to
start worrying once more.

My friends are always acting,
like slithering pleasures, and
it's a spiraling pole-like thing
and the lost light is purple.

Therapies can sometimes
become anti-therapies.

The radio since exploded!
And the buildings will explode!
And the lost light is purple.

But storms are not brewing,
and that's all there is to it.