Great hawk enshrouds tiny ring;
swallowing silence in the reflection of spring;
Your shadow bemoans my gentle home;
where wax wings and iron legs of sternness roam.
Between shattered glass and petal's dance
whose schadenfreude--makes you sound like an ***?
Oh, what a ******* intellectual chore
when even poetry doesn't make sense anymore.

I could have stayed out and talked to you,
but I swooned for the comfort of my bed.  Oh,

I wish you and I could share words sometimes,
but you're drinking again or sleeping instead.  Now

there's a sound coming from the utility closet,
like God's blowing a giant hair dryer: a furious whir.  So

cold, so cold, we complain--and stay wet.  It's so,
so cold; I'm going to bed.

I saw you on the stage today
covering your *******.
You looked like me in some sad way,
bruised white thighs and bony chest.
I saw you on the stage today;
my belly filled with dread:
You looked like me, but gimmicky
and grimly oversexed.

I feel there is something to say
about the wind around my neck today.
I feel there is something to say,
but I cannot find a way.

I feel there is something to note
about this air around my throat--
Capricious and shy-natured,
it grips me, then slithers away.

I have beheld
the simpleminded
lark, who sings
sustained
until the very moment
he crumples against
the glass--
I have beheld
the fruitlessness
of his path.
I see now that
the sparrow is
propelled, and what
propels her:
a heedlessness
an artlessness
behind her.

I have held
the hand of a man
in tears and
pet his head.
I have walked in-
to churches one way
and expected to come out
another: naivety.

I have come
to understand why
few ever find
the tunnel's exit.
Behold: one smoker,
smoking; one sad
girl with an older
man; one blind
woman, walking;
one foolish bird
in flight
towards a window.

Little mouse shakes erratically;
spasms and quakes under the butcher's knife;
comprehends, for a moment, finality;
becomes nauseated with fear.

Majestic is the scarab,
whose beauty persists
in the favor of people;
we behold it and say,
"How creative is God."
Mesmerized, I forget
how literally today
becomes yesterday--I forget
how potent a drug
beauty is.