Apr 10, 2011


Bola of the mind,
bola of the body,

o to drive a pile
in the chronology

still the roots climb
up to the limbs

of the banyan;
the armored seed

drops on the bog
& the eaters

in the silt.
It’s a tale of water

& sand, what goes on
in & around these walls.

Stuck fast,
make a wish

on your own bone,
or knit the clavicles

of the genii.
I guess that’s it:

the house on fire,

the tumbling train,
now that fetching

carbuncle will have
to wait

until the knife
is loosed

from the vertebra.

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