Oy

Oy,
the hollow men,
and the women they think
about, and the men they dream
about, and the hollowness that
entails.

Oy,
the wondering
of the wounded, and the auctioning
of the offered, and the gendering
of the neutered, and the continuity
that entails.

Oy,
the sallow fish, and the waters
they try for, and the barking tides
they cry for, and the hooks
of schoolmates sighed for,
and the bubbling black
oils
on their tails.

Wished

Placing compass,
pebble,
capsize in the curved lurch–

somersault ever-forward,
fingering

dampening sand’s crumble,
the line.

Her Seeing Night

They came,
red dark bursts of flame,
thirty-six letters spun, living deeds,
unloving pupils, bumbling tongues,
their foundation—a high,
mountainous host
of world-lent reputation,
built talk upon silent song,
blood-caked, lashing purple,
magnifying
the gaping electorate:

stiff
buck-bones bent, lending,
rainbow aped,
insinuating after?

Radiated in a new million,
their mad-slick ears, augur,
a tough intense;

tone-nickeling
what viscosity — shine, light,
one node crumbling,
two covenants crossing?

And delights in fevers
assembling unlawful:

shawl hurt, garment rung,
tapestries kicked, sandal slung.

Frenzied, slither, broth pinked
outside a main; A graying lung.