In the green rooms of the Abandonarium –– Lucie Brock-BroidoRed liquidPumped through the armIs it poison or is it bloodThe red bell headCauldron of mourningThe jet of poetry, candied by timeTwo gleaming red glass heartsBeating in the sunI touch themSmell the pinked hyacinthThe very nature of thingsThe goddamn essence of thingsRed Hell, Rosa RubeaBurgundy awakeningThe sparkling red elixir I drinkMy mind suddenly floodingWith love and angerThe great illusions of our ageDon’t hold backThere is a spirit to thingsLioness, flamed in redA witchcraft hungChanneledBy confusionRed blessingsReddening kissesMy ode to beginningWhat would you say, if you couldYou stand in my living roomStill sleepingCome back to me, SisterCome back, MotherCome back, I said, sadlyThe airplaneThe babyVery smallAnd waving