in mothers eyes, my sleeping child
in heavens womb as bright as i am dark;
corn-fed to lace and bitter taste,
faking hostage on the split-moon-steps,
how many miles in veins,
from knotted heart to the castout brambles unseen eye,
can i, as blind as perfume, dumb as smoke,
live hell astride these punch-drunk wings divided?
in endings flight, with fractured hands
on pavement trees, messiahs\' glands,
stand tall as wreath to the spinning grave
of rainbow skull as dry as time dies endless;
on feathers wind, to food of nerves
still have banished meat to the gallery of thimbles,
no less nimble than the bones that cross reflection.
i have cornered stone each bad years crawl,
in stomach\'s waxed, as hungry as an upright man,
to gallows pole of iced winds in my arctic rooms;
to the blue-eyed bronze, the statue in the park,
in heavens womb as bright as i am dark,
come spirits blessed each night your moon-bells ring;
it\'s a right we both deserve;