At this hour
amongst the small talk of couples after work
of the ministering song unheard
of mythological origins somewhere layered
of ornaments and framed prints
porcelain dolls lifeless
of ungenerated heat and cold toilets
to the depths—this desire
to string heads upon a lance
ride the rump of a steed bareback
to all my powers I lack
at this hour
I call them back

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *


You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>