.
Now if moths really had teeth they wouldn't be moths would they ?
nor would we we' d be birds standing on flames or
words standing in line and marriage vows'd ring
'standing' ovations kings on crowning glory and stolen virtue
unreal as a daisy or 'inegal'. as the french, here, like to say
After all the thigh-bone is connected to the ring clattering stone
cold storage is its only known mate color blind like any bluff a blind
woman, her saws, and 'terrible' sighs, without which mask and paint she'd
itch our feet as a ghost in a king novel pinched by the price
of a well known sacrifice but dinner is at 7 in Nantes and I am the painter's
guest in a full silence lent me by the driving arrow
of necessity's foggy sitter
now hear this you rugged bird you howling wolf you uncovered a pearl
but letting it lie fallow you gotta wonder 'did I make a mistake'
'I should have written to him' and 'replied to those pleas'
but the moon was fat as only a winter god might be hung down
on the sleigh bell sky
let this be known as you wander a street marked with crabs, and cobwebs,
history's ancient scent, a pink salmon, mocking the star, heels muttering in the
alley going that way over there you see Monsieur , not this way but promises
are orients with ball-gowns and lovers work terrible territories
whence the dark abyss of retreating seasons
Lay that to rest kick off the curtain toss off that box
hum along here it's the new world
..