while you all feast,
let me sing, surreal:
o broken paperback of time
every page a year
dog-eared synopsis of centuries
o teeth of xylophonic milestones
xenharmonic key to mysteries that ring like a belfry
the shiny moon a shower rose of cloud
o white gardenias on a fawn million-dollar dress
buzz of an early bagpipe
no
dinosaurs after
that blast
o clockspring of eternity
overwound forever
magpie bathing in a gutter
sees it all from up here
how they think they are at the centre of things
travelling the very vagus nerve of the land
itself an infinite sphere,
centre nowhere, circumference everywhere,
these brief-cased, jugular popinjays
who pedal green wooden bicycles
down crazy-patched bucolic highways
under ancient elms
they relieve us of the burden of our fat
part flesh and bone with the rusty razor
then tear the frayed flannel bedsheet
of hope that we live for
like the skin of a roast chicken
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