on the watch-chain
of our insomnia
it sits howling

time enough to feel
its just weight
to imagine its blinding clarity

the fundamental equation
of an empty street
in a rundown neighborhood

bent as I was
intently
over the particular.

I am this haunting music. Never look
Beneath the mask. There is a monster there—

Expressing hope we might in time come back
To have our teeth pulled and enjoy the rack.

I envy them and cannot find
Any comfort in my own uncertainty.

From the sea came a hand,
ignorant as a penny,
troubled with the salt of its mother,

Up in the mountains, deep gorges had split the rock into sharp knives. A whole civilization lived up there, where the sky was so blue it seemed to exist in depth for ever. Their cities (and I was never able to discover if, in fact, they had any) could not be seen. 

Perhaps the earth is floating,
I do not know.
Perhaps the stars are little paper cutups