Analect No. #63
A short history of our misplaced gaze:
Begin with the ground thumping songs of other people.
Entrance to the fierce cavern (the library of rats and
the locust hammer).
Her goose lute; rinsing echoes from her mouth,
She is the second song of her mother.
Professing plainness and simplicity:
Yet she sports a pheasant’s poverty.
Will you sing then “The Indoctrinated Child” again, then again, pleasing us? We that remain wine blossoms?
We fall off the pissing cart!
But, tied by blood to the Sobbing Smoke,
We speak through days in an opiate hour:
Crimson silk for the handmaid’s knife.
© 1999 Daniel Schnee
© 2017 Daniel Schnee