The Autobiography of Red

He saw the doorway

the house the night the world and

on the other side of the world somewhere Herakles laughing drinking getting

into a car and Geryon’s

whole body formed one arch of a cry—upcast to that custom, the human custom

of wrong love.

His brain was jerking forward like a bad slide projector

Tears ran back into his ears awhile

then no more tears.

He had touched bottom. Feeling bruised but pure he switched off the light.

Fell instantly asleep.

Anger slammed the red fool awake at three a.m. he kept trying to breathe each time

he lifted his head it pounded him

again like a piece of weed against a hard black beach.

After undressing he stood

at the mirror and observed himself emptily. Freedom! The chubby knees

the funny red smell the saddening ways.

Yellow? said Geryon and he was thinking Yellow! Yellow! Even in dreams

he doesn’t know me at all! Yellow!

What’d you say Geryon?

Nothing.

It’s a freedom dream Geryon.

Yes.

Freedom is what I want for you Geryon we’re true friends you know that’s why

I want you to be free.

Don’t want to be free want to be with you.

ne evening at supper when his mother

asked him

what they were like, Geryon could not remember if the librarians were men

or women.

a talented boy with a shadow sid

Geryon’s life entered a numb time, caught between the tongue and the taste.

Outside the natural world was enjoying

a moment of total strength. Wind rushed over the ground like a sea and battered up

into the corners of the buildings,

garbage cans went dashing down the alley after their souls.

Giant ribs of rain shifted

open on a flash of light and cracked together again, making the kitchen clock

bump crazily. Somewhere a door slammed.

Leaves tore past the window.

Got out the coffee can, turned on the tap and started to cry.