Congregation
We are gathering, collecting in
yards and along fences and we perch
on semi-sinusoidal, oh so
regular waves of black electrical cord
which penetrates the houses below with
sickly distraction
What intentions we have are ours
to know and conceal in black-feathered
pockets and in ridges along
knuckles, along thinning, pale feet
in feigned intensity which drains
to our toes
I speak not for the rest, no, would
not make that claim and yet—
haven’t you wondered, haven’t
you thought, perhaps they are of
one mind, of one crackle-thwip,
razor-sweet mind?