Singing of the Milk of Dawn

Cat Power taunting the maneuvering steer hounds
crystal perilymphatic molars betrayed
like soft lines of regret and corporate ashtrays
seek silence in the cow dung of metre time stamps
forgotten lyrics in the chorus of God’s
freight-arc of foraged plurality
there will be no more singing today
not now that the tune is tucked between the milk
and the conquered growth of a late dawn