I cater to the fledgling on the left,
wings and hyphens drive by us in the morning sunshine,
horns erupting in the traffic of the underflow motion,
I wept to see such a hostile girl,
with an owner such as this one,
made from spit and custard without even rocking the cradle.
In corners and in sheds,
the heads graze slighty to the north
and lifting my lips to your ear I whisper deeds to be natural,
fervor hastens to the pulse and quickly transforms
the arrival of the night age: vipers on resurrection strings,
caged animal in the pit,
I cough and awake shouting at the bees swarming in a straight line.
What is wicked and wrecked is once lost and now gone forever,
says the cricket to the crow
sitting in the pine tree in your backyard,
outsider always looking in and wanting.
Heart warmth and seedlings, I rise up to the farthest star
from Sirius that I could find.
Off coming, she said,
to be late to meetings with Agendas and so forth.
Geese in their wormholes and fucks in the far off barn,
not too close to the house so that the parents can hear
through their NPR and bursting serenades of Handel
and the undertaker,
wine sipped through a straw,
tensions high and wrathing up in between my
sight of vision, eyes bleeding and fuzzy now,
legs and thighs relax to the metaphor of summer.
I stand before you,
bleating out the testosterone of the graveyard,
mannequins and sheep alike, lay hazy in the fogless sleep
on a day in January, if that is your wish.
Friends only behind clothes and doors,
closeted fools that frothed the seas of disguise and boredom.
Haunted cerebellum, I crept to the fortnight ahead of us,
and wondered what to wear on such an occasion as the future,
moss hair and knowing, infants and hamstrings, love of Faust and Chaucer.
I ate through the chains that held me free,
turn around and grin again,
castles and franchises await you, dear friend.