councilmen and councilwomen of frail enjoining fractured close

the ventricle of spire blistered by the Knights of dogfish bull
if there was an apostrophe in the riddle of a piano
as if claws at the curtains to keep breathing
under the face of oyster palms and appendices
this side of heaven’s demure tackling the trail of tomorrow
we were only wondering what Good looks like from this side of the cave

abandoned like Willie Nelson at the sorrow parade
we cannot face the metaphysical strost
but believing in forgiveness only makes sense
when the cities and towns and nations are under blame
and that is easier to believe than only light of regal admod
captured in the conquest of bailed out spirit

grooping at genteel gradient of atmosphere turns slowly
hoovering over Duke Ellington’s own magnetic shelter
as cool, clam iron in the spade of hay
weren’t we once long lost in trees,
in unforgiving sand, the lingua franca
our history in change and waste and connoisseur’s song melted