wb :

18

I
the year could pass like the stirring of soup
or the crying of a cardboard baby
whirring past your earlobes
hissing like animals!
or flirting loosely with the idea of silence







II
it could be the silent ticking of twilight skies
we could stand in a circle and join hands
(here put your hand in mine, fingers
encircling
like mating honeybees or the long-end of the preying mantis moving in for the
kill.
)
here i am Lord take me take this life take this flesh give me something else
here i am encircled on a sliver of bespectacled earth
Lord, I am tired of people. I am besmirched.
it could be the noise of monstrous whirling fleeing eternity fleeting like the buzzing of dragon-flies

III
Tacet.

-adam

Labels: poetry