A Pinholed Labyrinth
Lame sunrises and midday sunsets
Fangs in words and perils in laughters
Sweet archs of smiling fires and silky shouts in talking forests
I come from the bitter of cobstones paved down the coalfield
Broken lutes and snoring cork oaks
Freckles of lipstick and suckles of martinis
A bosom of pounds, a pavilion of dangling beryls and a breech of honeycombs
I come from the lust of the chaste lass
White moths and black mushrooms
Coffins of treasures amid covens of night mayors
Whispers of thunders and creaks of ant-steps
I come from the stones in the chicken's gizzard
Shards of fate and vials of morphine
Ponds of rheum and fogs of cold incense
A stew of scimitars, a brandise of stone and the heathenry of whitesmiths
I come from the furs in the abattoir
Sonnets in pools of ink and grace in quills of peacocks
Sequels of black weresheep and bugles of lean shepards
A wit of one accord and a grit of a myriad taut
I come from furnace that boils the molten poetry soup
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