Not same; but are in meaning and
not meaning
and yellow hands and
penny-a-pocket, What? Or is it?
Or the tradition of analytic swans, their
spread of hollow calm.
Yes we are run. And come in
pursuit of frail concerns.
Our ears are wrapped
in gauze, alongside the pool,
frailed. Before
Jahweh’s exultation, lungs
peeled. Seem to be seen
as a struggle with
pulse before shut off the lamps
and wish for flame.
In spite of. At the bottom
of the world, supine
on beds of dire herbs.
Crazy-headed by the fountain
of slow-quick.
