The Ache is to Become


55

the lowest boughs picked clean.
The ladder's twist
unzipped by enzymes.

Mouth of whirlwinds
bloodied
by a scrap of plywood.

Nothing here dictated by the protein code.

A chain of pollen
ten commandments long.

The horn of plenty disinfected.

In our agony / the pose
of St. Sebastian resurrected.

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