Thunder resigns the dimpled sky to fatigue
and stirs my Delphian soul—
Around my brow clocks circle, clocks in heat
in twenty directions the ticks tock—
When the lights flicker, I come to.
Lucid puddles seep into shoe beds
I stand upon my liquid self,
the self that bares teeth to the walls.
For whom do I wait? For whom do I expect?
Law papers, newspapers, fish papers, gossamer
threads flap and linger and time-table
my mind to cimmerian shudders.
Death in the form of trepidation, death in
calico-colors, alive and at ease with itself
the cat bathing herself claws-open
baiting the willow trees, the underground daisies.
I sink to pale knees.
The shale floor is cool to touch.
Twenty men could not