Mark-to-market Den mothers

Sober cat melodeon trains
Fragrant in honey and sugar
Sopaipilla merchants docile
Hammers tearful in the rain
The animals’s theft of mother mood

There is no singing to the den mother
There is no patrimony tearful
For reluctant jives or mercy beads
Of hollowed nervous tendons
Like sand within that is built
In metered time

St. Timothy sleeps with older men
During all nighttime hours
Sober and melodic
Somber and anachronistic
Tuesday talking to spider moths
For Wednesday praises
Singing off key

For the one coming soon
The one already here
And the division of our labors
The animals’s theft
And the metered sophistry of keystone marinade