our gloating blood glows long
pooled in the blessed violins of autumn
and around the monstrous corner
comes the languor of a lone monotone
a tout suffocated
under bitter quandaries
lays in the sun for an hour
and like an ancient serviette
abjures plumage
a frail
wheat-colored piano
sits silently in Galveston, Texas
and outside in the rosebushes
an uncertain refrain
a quivering view
a charming queasiness
a shifty shadow
of palm fronds
emu
bugle
to the picket
