Resume the Position

If everything arose
from the holes in the earth,

the living and the dead,
skittering and slithering

to a note in the wind
that moves you, too,

a kind of answer
that is a seed of hunger–

gloved around The Devil’s hand,
tasseled and googly-eyed,

performing for the children
performing for you,

everyone wringing the ghostly moon
with pincher arms–

then your own name
cried from a window,

mocking in its earnestness,
raspy and ravaged,

feeling like a blind hand
under a couch, batting you–

yes, you cling to it;
yes, you let go.


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