|
|
|
Morning comes; graves awaken
As chemical lids ajar. Steam slinks from the kettle Whose steel gargoyles my face In warped curves and bone-shifts, And the frantic cat thrub-dubs my knees As red meat sinks by my hand to her level By logistics beyond her mentality. The clock counts time, Radium moon-face, A skull in the abstract, Steel as statistic. But I sink all in steam-flow; Water boils the leaves around - Pot-bellied warm tea, White lava of sunlight. And the cat Purrs. |
|
|
|
 |