Cow Bones

This is a temple

in ruins. The hieroglyphics

of its columns and beams

encode

like Stonehenge

the punctuation

of a dead star.

While the asterisk taps

in the dark,

the black hood

of the sun is snugged about

each snowflake

dancing

on the gallows of its crumbling

geometry.

DAVY BROKENLEG

Memory is poetry,

essentials only.

The whole floor

is a trap door.

Thought locks me up.

I watch him stalk *

that white hippety hop

he swings and drops

until I stop.

This never stops.

Memory is poetry.

It has no plot.