be the sun -drunk- pushing
through coy & precious
clouds crowding
out the night
eating all his rice
flea-by-flea
quarantined &
quarantined &
pinion to light
he is not polite, nor nice. he
does not deserve his sight, a gift
too-big too-bright for such a fetid blight,
feel no shame if only for this single hour:
'ruat justitia, fiat caelum,' Sarah.
one face gleams
another yet stalks
congress whispers two
two ears to walls refuse to talk
but, all in wingless glide
handcuffed alight
side by side by side by side by side by side
[ ... ]
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