pillars formed of platelets
stacked they rise, from
their own porch of hunger,
my hunger
though
comes from the hunger for fields for
the shadow of fields
the lost imprint
of the oldest farmer
i feel that resonance in
wine
the short hand of drugs
drown
then in such long days
suffused with articulated being
sharp at the dendrite, and mean
coalesced greedy the mind
is decanted in to
an unbending mineral
snapped at the nose, metallic
a hint of almond arsenic
a poison of days and memories
of words trickling and luminous
waiting for the plate of lamp black
to cob web a formal hand
ordering till and mule through
mans morning murk and glory.
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