The Muezzin

Before light’s encroaching Beams, across wavelengths Of glints, in between yawning Protocols of waking, The cocks strike a redundant Note. Choked by their own sensitive Yodelling spree, muted by Spittle of outstretched, moaning Clouds, frayed and piqued by The lusts of flying machines, Hours stretch on rubber’s speed. The rain is a common spiv, holding On the crests of soaking waves Upon night’s purloined Sleep. On the roof, the rain pelts With energy, hunting the Fire-caked degree of heat, Insufferable to the dictates Of yelling protests. Faint mirrors of earliness hang Loose on frescoes of heaven, peeking Through serrated drapes above Window panes. And these, like neighing, Spavined horses, wake Memories of puking slumber... And the hours of dimmed contours Stretched. And the lilt from the Pluvial melody humbles the Insomnia monody, drummed Into the silence of fastened hedonism. No sunrise within the grey Patterns of veiled clouds... Cocks’ crows, subsumed within This muffled protocols, become Distant trumpets of varieties, Preening themselves of the usage Of establishing culture. Allah, Allah, Allah! ! ! The presence became fixed! At the very hour of the cocks’ choir, When piddling gathers the froth of First waking with the grogginess Of drunken dreams, the muezzin Reads out the laws.... From the jungle chambers, elated Spirits from pricked ears and Rising furs soothe the voice, Arched, raised and powered Even to the birth of essences and Dehiscing of inscrutable Energies of efflorescences. Allah, Allah, Allah!