35

a fool and his season are soon rust.

/ /

My acid rain my tears are etched discolored.

/ /

Grave
dissolving into every other.

Marble figures loitering, as doves.

/ /

The angel perched above it
melts / its face

as if a doll were cast aside,
its eyes sewn shut.

/ /

Something terrible in the likeness
keeps proving
art
the same hieroglyph repeated / fury

scratched ineffectually on it to slow--

/ /

Claw marks of peacocks
stomping
to claim gravel and dust.