biwa

the piper's hill deer
is here now
in live human muscle
and broken pots
replace the fallen soldiers
across the battlefield
tears to soak the soil
and dappled beauty
is reflected everywhere
pink fungus like a star
will preside
over abstract twigs
pretending to speak
of maps

the toad of gathered shard palace
croaks loudly
in the lost and scattered ears
cartilege may be sculpted
into weird and musical instruments
its warts are gemstones
carrying imprisoned spirits

dust is rising
in the yellow distances
poems like locusts
fill every crevice

pots weep
pale blue curses
and joy hides also
gnarled hermit roots
festooned with lacy mushrooms

the piper's hill deer
tells the tale
of beings made of wild crud
now burning with light

a twisted rope
becomes an orb
of lamp-hands
which raise their cracked cup
to the moon-cracked cloud

the pale lone leaf
emits
a strange tone
there is blood coursing
in its flowery nose

an old raft is propped up with a stone
to make a trap



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