Circe 584
dog god sings heaven
please remove these townsmen from my reign
please reveal that high bone, Adonai
a dagger my body can't escape
a hairy omnipotent
in free discord
in free Ireland
in free fall
a voice siren-like as it
travels south
past the window
clutching the blessed windpipe
on its way down.
Circe 585
the sky collapses
a tent on celebrants
a boozy carbine firing
reason
listen for forgiveness
coming as an insult
a bucket of language in the
face of the incapable
our shoulders are worse
for the carrying of hate
a stunning fist to the face
will put right our ears
as we progress toward
the feast of pure reason
barking along the way.
Circe 586
privately bleeding from influence
our comrades, wronged, flee along the fringe
in expectation of cowardice
they faint from their flight.
They grab at blows and stand in the rain
too gentle to bark
too mad to get what's being said
we stand back and admire our work
smug crowd tugging at air
we were with him
who owns the right to talk
and who insults the day
