Your back fits the mold of my cavity

and this parabola of mine joins us together.

Looking down, I think cornucopia,

you think ribcage, and from it we agree

that you can eat. Allowances were made,

and yet my flesh and body was ravaged,

whole. Handprints feast in the midst of

salvation. Hymns found hmmms.

Hm. You make a myth

out of me. I make a travesty

out of you. Near

is the Hour that will be here.


AN Excerpt from NAYSAYER