Seasons of turbulence windswept past
and now the comparative impression of balance
(illusory, or playfully ironic, or
painfully untrue)
a pair of whistling ears and
salt-burned lips and trying to hold on
– with the same hand –
to a cigarette a writing implement
compassion a banknote
the beats of the bar the compass
points and general tralala
when autrefois stood witness
in stained glass tachycardia
on the steps of Monmartre and one
meaningful sacrifice in the abattoir
carried the fire far
And so at the still point
of the turning etcetera
Sisyphus rolls his orchestra
rising through recitative to obloquy and aria
down the hill to the shore where Death shakes manacles
bangs knuckles at the door of Ocean and the spray falls
as feathers over sleeping forms
(pools of chloroform nearby, circumscribed in bluebells
ringing [reflected,
shivering])