a fire roars
in foreign white ink a familiar name, no not familiar
a bone-inlaid key paws open the heavy vault door
one green eye one red eye laid over the mountain ascent
three deer-blood lips three fir tongues, teeth
cast like needles over the valley
the temple
the far-off
glacial scar
like oxen yolked
their gray pupils pull
through fragile forests of madness, intensity
at least i think so and that counts for something
no one's mad at me
i'm famous and very rich
and remain lazy with no guilt
upon closer inspection: a mystic
hand-in-paw with a brown dog
9 clay pots, they're dancing
near prayer, spontaneous music of the weald.
