You never knew any archangels, but one calls for you. You sense summertime—feel the same heat and shoulder it with care. Even the locusts cannot sleep. Your name faintly in their metallic hum. Love and its silent bell watch like it will never matter. Nighttime spreads itself—whispers Stay with me. On a map of the walled city, faded colors plead. Timid, sheer cravings stay away. Your lashes still wet from when you believed. First blush is handed out with the trust of a captured swan— wrapped around you, its wheeled eyes mimic lunar exhaustion. It has been a long time since you have held a hand, and it feels like a clattering of jackdaws just before they snatch your coins.
Said Dali to Lorca:
…escape
from the watch
and become
a new bodily joint—
in the place
that corresponds
to the sex organs
of bread crumbs…
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The Failures of a Non-Performer 