WHEN THE STAR EATS
A BLACK SKY.
for Ted Joans
A lurid mermaid prevails on my exuberant circulation
of spume muddied with the blood of sleep that chains the
herd of hands already released from the sore throat of
dust where the audible hats flying like ravens in the
light of caution whose air murmurs in the tranquility of
lightning as a signal of the revolt of the neighing in a
society for the prevention of cruelty to hands.
For laziness has a revolutionary function: The game
stalks the moment.