Section of A’ Rebours by Robert Mazzocco

My dreams are cubbyholes, lost in shadows,
and yet stuffed with the works of art I’ll call my poems,
scraps of paper on which I’ll scribble down,

far away from the home, the saga
of the late voyage, or a journey, maybe, afoot at noon,
in search of gold, or snatches of the one true cross,

or pieces of the hangman’s rope—anything at all, you’ll see,
to end the waste at dawn, as I’ll drift apart
from all I never found, or all that could never find me…