drooping little Lilly\'s
in dead ponds
and the birds fly up
scatter as buckshot
and it\'s hard luck
and no luck
and the tears of poetry
my fingers scratching
the filthy stars
and sparrows
call the dead to dance
but the dead do not answer
and they answer
and I do not hear
but look at clouds
with eyes shut
I misrepresent my meaning
as my own
as a dwarf
scratching out prayers
on a cupboard
my sentry has left
and I raise my bottle
my horn
my albatross
and faces behind doors
shuffling through misery
but I am blind
and a beggar
lulled to sleep
to the place
of no place
as shadows
drape the moon
as I sleep
to roses and thunder
the rain never stops
never stops
*
February 15 2022