The answers are stuck like tiny eggs
Between my teeth, a cosmic arithmetic
Wending its way through depilation
And the subtle centrifuge of forgotten
Territories, which I oil and burn,
Crazy with black festivals
Against a knotted skyline, pop-
Up ads for growing taller,
A concupiscent halo that invites
Wire, wire, wire, wire, wire,
Until we meet again in the crossing
Of the bridge between the I
And the you, which would open out before us,
If only I could creep into the vespers
Of the lucid Law you know,
Sun setting over the burning territories,
Incinerating me every night
Into the dawn’s charred aviary, the word.