Embracing Kudzu Vines From Outer Space

Suffering from insomnia, I spent most of the night working on a collage poem. I went back to my old habit of lifting material from The New Yorker's art museum and gallery pages. I arranged and re-arranged random phrases until daylight broke. I guess that's a better way of spending my time than tossing and turning in bed, but the finished product turned out to have a topsy-turvy quality:

I see you kissing the Great Whatsit,
embracing Kudzu vines from outer space as
if they were one cornucopian glory.
Voices and wind collapse.  Dreamlike, color
seeps in -- spare and spooky -- and time disintegrates
into loose springy webs -- notorious
and nimble -- a constellation
of shifting art and magic, a pinhole
of light in a darkened room. Time. Think of it as
a small-scale subversion that sheds its snakeskin
as you dive into your dreams and nightmares.

(The brilliant collage is by my friend Kim.)