(for Kate Gannon)

“most people are not fit to rule themselves” – jenny holzer

a pattern dares not move
but what living grooves are pressed
beneath a stone?
the clamoring worms
surviving death
halved at the child’s trowel
in a fat, peachy hand.

still life of: the pen drying out on my desk
you take the cap, my knife –
scuttling away to drink the wine
lusting at the light on the sill,
the yawning curve of your self-portrait.
you are a love of my life – we are not
sure of ourselves but she is
fairly certain of you.

detailing the pattern,
in the deal of the cards:
eppur si muove. she weeps.
the trumpet of your own aching joy
spreading like moss
under my feet, into the streets.

(as published in Rushlight, spring 2016)

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