Wednesday, December 8, 2010

A Mistake Of Age

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Circe 436

for a different sake you leaped as
someone had the brute bone the
mixed fraction of a mask
with a tusk and hands and
the woe of money and
and a pale embrace
lasting a mere second or
a servant minute in a corner of matter
twanging a smile.
Shall we see how little
difference our truest selves make?

Circe 437

Oh! Holy Night!
how comic you are!
You were always a favorite present.
Hiding behind a badge of love
I confess my ability to fly
and you go into hiding.
I send you a gift-a prism to divide the light
and you recall all the days of glory.
I recount the names of the killed
and you enter your watery home
in a dinner jacket and
rubbed all over with blindness.
I give you a valentine and
you arrange curiosity until it becomes
a pearl in your dead hand.

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