A pity the selfsame vehicle that spirits me away from …
Timothy Donnelly
Too busy peddling my fire and trying to keep the mouths fed …
There were no American lions. No pygmy mammoths left …
The clouds part revealing a mythology of clouds …
After knowledge extinguished the last of the beautiful …
That figure in the cellarage you hear upsetting boxes …
And though we had fed long and well at the table …