red exile

on the red exile's wall
oil paintings
dissolve


she brings you wine
cherries
etc


opens the Book of Matrices
bilingual, retrograde
obscene


her words have no meaning
at first, or
if ever, a language
encoded, it excites you


while you roar outside
in the street
with the crowds, the comrades
marching in step
to phantom rhythms
receding


after (it was the Paris Commune)
in shackles
pondering


in stone prison
or caged
alone


she hovers over the castle
with basket, wine, etc
tosses cherries


in the asylum
you look up and 
howl


strange doctors
administer
torture


at times memory
returns -- the red exile
in the corner
painting