"Sonnets to Chango: III."
Nemesis, double-headed axe, vain cudgel
in mists, in gray fog falling, wine on the tombstone
freshly poured. Sanguinary Sabbath
in red & white, the festival of the jugular...
an older underground than kindly werewolves,
i carry it across rough ground, nor seiche
awaken; Chango, Father of Twins, wind's width
measured. And meanwhile, jesters parry dogma;
& we have built our castle out of yogurt.
The years with years' malaises stun & deafen,
& it's so hard to remain unerringly open.
weather's but a nemesis more stalwart.
A royal palm tree never was the culprit.
I gather pale blue berries off the juniper.
(2016)
"Friend just confirmed via text she's putting her cat down and Apple Intelligence just suggested I respond 'haha I feel you.' " --@bencollins.bsky.social
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