
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.