Tuesday was dangling in the eye-teeth of Wednesday
and all the calm of a clump of dead clay sang
like a harpy reciting a siren’s lament,... as the wind betrayed
the holly of my dim.
While feeding violins my harp
i got gone like i’d never been there.
i swam to shore like an eel in a pomegranate
holding my breath in a bucket
of null joy.
oh where is the numb sting of my occasional wasp?
the viper i sing too? where are the tongues of my constant ungathering
yapping at the foggy breakfast of my entire Love ?
Where are the metallic snowflakes
careening into cauldrons of deaf smoke ?
How can I atone for all the withering
of god’s joke?