from : Magpie Augury :
for Christiane Piano
ONE for sorrow with each passing moment, I'm becoming part of the past. as if there is no future at all, just the past steadily accumulating: trade-offs & take- backs, legion & aftermath. the rate at which the human body falls. milkweed & thistles. a garden of scars. once crowned the Gentle, was caution & counsel, & yet. when the eyes are slightly narrowed, the approach is always skewed. you mess with the bull, you get the horns. you trade your hands for wings, & even the statue weeps.
TWO for joy a clever little
THREE for a girl & here be waters
FOUR for a boy this morning the stratospheric ether is hyperpure— I can feel it in my sinuses. someone should tell the bees. keep your pretty head low. I sense a weird week ahead, one with sharp teeth. a leeching spring, a thing that cannot be put back. this afternoon there were two girls in blue plaid jumpers clapping chalkboard erasers in the schoolyard. enter the Stepford Cuckoos, cue the Greek Chorus. the cause for constant vigilance. I mean, case.
FIVE for silver that the world rests on the backs of 36 living saints. that the white flakes in the first snow globes were tiny shards of porcelain & bone. that astronomers who named them didn’t realize the moon’s seas were actually dark plains formed by volcanic eruptions. that the human body falls at a rate of 32 feet per second. that evidence of zombie protozoa suggests—. that she said, there is no real intimacy without remorse; but also, there is gratitude. I mean, it's right here. I wrote it all down.
SIX for gold terrible maths: dividing four hearts by infinity. cruel by nature, not by malice. that something that heavy could float. this howling familiarity, this preoccupation with nomenclature. written in the margin: I see your negligence & raise you contempt. I have lost my mouth again— an awful grace. I cite the etymology of mayhem. I employ word magic, build quick machines. I project a more powerful image of myself to confuse my enemies. I mean, it's kind of my job.