Monday, November 8, 2010

First Circe

Circe 422

Definite idiot
with coal and ice
murky teeth, shapeless mouth
you, of most sprawling women
you, of blue snow
who are shaken with past dancing who
are saluted with palsied arm and wispy signal
of railing and grinding groan
through danger door
and nighttown whistle
you stretch out to reach
these flimsy houses
you release the night from prison hands
you call the children to the cold scattered forge
and reach past these rare answers.

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