Night digs away with no appetites so
morning when found calls for self-exposure
I should crack open a long kept secret
every day give one away.
Let loose rigid lips to articulate
notions you would not say if sober
premises the cobalt nursery birds live for
with a shriek of self-recollection.
Been up for hours hearing them connote
the peacocks backed up gut to throat
tight lipped all day long I long to keep
them quiet so my toil can proceed.
Your summer in your oven frets
heat grows and lets go the effortless cry
who is to blame and calories cogitate
hours faster than I can put them to page.
Our passions are always seen backwards
seeing them there takes the edge off the rage
in the mirror clouds are loaded vigilantes
riding in from the lake slashing
the humid veil the rushing front stacked
in obscure layers that must be there hidden
smacking of what the peacocks take as tale
of their rescue from complete freedom.
The air’s cooing, the season’s waning warns
attack and grab and concoct your yarn
feel the dominion felt in throat and teeth when
you sum up your century.
Not atmospheric but manufactured
from events I fashion trends upward
an alabaster facade from concreteness of memory
the ways the day and the year were joined.
A cobbled, five-pillared, hand-to-hand likeness
familiar the rouge under the scratch
natural and permanent if that is not
a contradiction I carved out along with
the idea it is about one of us.