Somewhere Between

somewhere between

my belvedere of yet unopened wounds

a brace of pheasants hanging on a whim.

am less curious now

my fortress stands on mercury and dust.

arc angels come and go, all neatly packed

dead nettles resting weary with the ordinary rank

only three more days

to pass the time and flower like a ball

to roll my eyes somewhere inside 

the open jars of flannels 

for the cleansing hands of rich and yellow corn.