Shudder
Prowl as I will
for the tender to fill my appetite,
the bitter moss I bargain against
brews my balance,
pins me.
Pacing the piers at night,
I debate my long lost angel,
accuse him of abandonment,
of leaving me to haul the burning
rot alone.
"Be reasonable," he says,
"or be uncontainable. Remember
your own true stories: Dante, Diana, Orpheo."
"Ah, screw this sacrifice for the sake of
godliness," I protest, tired
of the bicycle always needing two wheels.
"Time out," he envelopes me,
"we're on the bridge and the moon is
polishing the river."
