Oh we are worn through, treading
the same thoughts over on a derby track.
For forty years our mouths have runneth over
with lobsters, arsenic, and honeyed death.
The ecstasy and excretion of autumn is winter's
pale rubber band around the note card stack.
And the vain have said, "look on my works ye Mighty..."
and now that we have looked, during
the snow death silence
of dream crash kingdom,
The elastic will sever
and loose the papers into obsequies.
Our world expands, breaking and wearing
out and shedding skin
like the snake Apophis in his crested sleep
who sleep-talks innuendos to our tingling
and wears the laureled countenance of terror.
Messiah of the midnight covenant
sealed with the blood of suicides.
We, here. We sip the coffee cup, now,
glancing at morning with dazed and
suspending the suspense a little longer
as your happy revolutions come around.
The yellow mountains sticking from the sun
in the juvenile drawing of a house and family
Your approaching mountain.