The Crux
of the Master
the crux of the master is
any situation skewed by
another situation
enervating men ruing
lost breasts
(satiety next to sinliness)
some of us missing the
laxity in prevailing winds
while monsters from the kelp
gulp every jot of damp & silence,
mistresses abounding delicacy
mask their empty harrow
wish upon a start or
other Shylock misery, a
calumny for broken speed
led by the nose to circled
expectation
& guilted ache, weighting
the darkened light
inured to every mentored
cob laminated to our
penny royal well mete,
ungodly ache wasting as it
grabs ahas & diamond views
of martyred augury
milled flowers taut as sauced
satanically amassed silt
clouding a mother's
haloed vision
starred by love of
legs & leaves
skin to skin electron-slammed
attention mastered
in sylvan chaos, the
frightful thump of
mammal's eye & fallow sympathy
to enter & accept
this situation or any
stunted misericord
via loose threat of
water-slapped hull, a
blinking mollusc’s
salvaged dance
with axons or a mother's sun
(& sigh of the times)
flint-eyed like that first hour’s
last best caller
tearfully engorged,
writing into the sunset
Rail
against the gap,
rotten ties gaping,
junked cars gridded
like chocolates in a box,
scraps
sorted & hilled,
ranged like drowning
worms.
A voice feminine &
muscular.
His fur clinging to her
limbs as if posessed.
Nights, despair coming
out to play
(shabbiness seeping into
psychic pores).
Plastic the new
bask,
charged & toxic
current currency,
ice cracked & drowned
‘til our sea runneth over.
Tell me what you
haven’t heard.
This dissatisfaction
guaranteed
or your
body back.
Segue to the
cheerfully antique
(entrée to the
wearily oblique).
Sad claws digging
for her lowing heart,
starved eyes moist
with unrequited sympathy,
hungry for the
meted touch.
Arrested
in the midst of
words
sour & thundering
as
water
tousled unto
dearth
wasted from the
nether reaches
of
internity
slow
& slower,
sloughed
& slovenly—
if you could only
purr today
like
no tomorrow
while the ones with no
future are
robbed of their
squalid present
by us
stuffing our
daily dying
with more
& more
not ours.
Mother, what to
hang on this
fading
scaffold?
Child, what
you can.
(blossoms burst from
starving soil)
(tadpoles doomed to
cracked mud)
—one & all
chasing the
ring of
bone or
smoke
& mirrors
touching something
warm & moist
& breathless
real
Sweet Iron
wrought and bothered,
bruised amygdala
reeling from wrecked
expectation,
held like feet
to this fiery tantrum
of lips
fleeced & gilt.
Spare as this dime-stored
cowbaby yahooligan,
miser to the
honeyed gadfly,
salt of the earth-bound
every witch way,
drugging our
dragon urge,
yearning to cerebrate.
Monetized marriage
of master and slave.
The health of the planet
chopped.
Worshipful abandon
salving no one’s wound,
injured and inured
to anyone’s guest.
Abandoned arthropods
sick & blistered.
Misted mastery of
flickered guise
whirling westward,
wan and woefully alone.
Rules dribbled thin
as skimmed milk,
weak & politic
as misapplied.
Yet another sore spot
probed by
doubtful digits.
Base, too, as this
uppity machine,
wearily aware
of metal self
+ wan & waning
other.
