i came across this
blade and strummed
her with a finger and
i watched the dew tumble
to my bare feet waiting
and i thought about
the will of its wanting
and the arch of its back
and the pearl beads
riding on the thin ridge
and of their tumbling down.
it's all about the collapse
into the self and the
phonetics of the helpless
toiling we all make.
how a man once said
that...
