The first movement

When—
a struck adolescent—
I roomed in the basement
windows under the ceiling
a table and bed
a beaten gold surface of sound

“Maybe this maybe that”
says the robin
Girls in shorts
want a dog or a baby

A mother-of-pearl raft
floats toward the pole
A mask of rock
Pullman wheels on concrete walk

Why is the sky blue?
What is blue?
What is blue for?

Wind string concentrically
around a mound of rags
Mix paints to get the right color
It’ll never be the right color
When it’s right it’ll be somewhat nauseating