olympic foot opera telescope

there is no gun tall enough
to meet the hall
a secret they have kept
in titanic myths surrounding
the eye that never sleeps

when iron laurels cannot be lifted
by the populations of entire cities
then pale white brains
must chick the mouse's ear
in penelopian silicone
hair silent
the sacred arrow

something old and titanic
must leave the brain
to become visible again
planetary perception
will beat its gun
across the chest
of young flowers

a small river
leaking from a wound
in the forest
how still
is this titanic navel
an azure marble
that draws close
to love
and perfects its
closing

how true the form
of the laurel ship
how poetic
the horse
when green waters
split the sky
its sign will swim
in the airless gulfs
of time

we will lead
this hoarse water
though no one can erase
its sad saddle
these caves
give a hollow ripeness


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