Mutant

I sit; a nut,

turn in my shell,

eyes in backward.

 

Dig a wee self;

forage in the glen

of fine, crude cells.

 

I’m pressed.

Ears in the ocean

seize…

a mutinous song.

 

Feb 23 2017

Nervum Tibulum

Diabolical twitch

in the darkness;

singer in the light.

 

I’ve come to

 

winking at the fly,

its odd caress

and back of a turbulent sea;

 

and whistling

over wings

of a wet gnat.

 

At day

I load my beanbag

with the cat

 

and another three yak

 

of what they

kiss and kill

at their backs.

 

At night

I shake the moon

as I fit fit fit

 

and FALL,

like death over lark.

 

2017

 

In a Church

In the sigh of frescoes

immortal eyes unhinge.

 

It’s you, me and the old

moving air that flees

in tasted gust to the walls

and keels in a pirouette.

 

Intervals are rent for the choir

when all dust is met with the roof

as they sing and they sing

 

or when the old tenor waddles in

combing the stair with a whistle

and cough – fends grub with love

that keeps the stone alive for years.

 

Simple – he comes.

 

And here, now, I sway

on wings I’m too small to know.

Unbent, in the blue-smocked violence,

 

I feather my hands.

 

Dec, 2016