Have you observed how a shadow is simply
A giant’s hair, swooping to and fro through time?
Sure, you could have a picnic there. There’s a hulse
In the garden, back bare to the weeds and grackles.
I feel agitated, a cornucopia of stars with a snake
Inside. The snake’s been having recurring dreams
Where it turns into a black branch and must grow
Very, very slowly. Like my beard growing long
And swaddling me, the dumpling, deep within.
Day after day I expect things to stay the same,
Have I learned nothing? I reject this land of small
Buckets never filled. My hummingbird companion
Lives here somewhere, which is a kind of comfort.
I must remember that money is not watching me,
Blind in its shifting burrow and never to be seen.
But my consciousness is looking, it has bundled
Itself into a filth pocket. What the drowned, honest
Rat says, I say, too. The black towel hides my horrible
Face. It is much irritable, how we are speaking now.
Last time we went to the well, my soul jumped
In, I watched. Then I pulled up the pail and drank.
My neck ajar, I poured my soul back in.