Exeunt, by themes of lasting
must I remain
so? Those thrush, that brook,
do not perceive this agony
as I lay splayed over huge tablets
toppled, fallen for hammocks, great
monoliths to conceal the sun a bedrest
I pretend the day will burn
so always surefooted, steady-stern,
remarkably awake to pretty things
but flayed, the flesh then spilt
in hymns and psalms and praise
of all that I’ve not bested, having bested me, late
to my victory, verily,
across cold dunes and searing, snowflake’d grass
crisped and killed so. I shall leave thee, O
signposts, whispers, displaced dirt, the mock-up,
tenacious press onward, on to the farther place, Ho…
09/12/2015