I
had now given the Greeks to the grave
game of spurring. Ajax had played his
jacks for tonight.
Their equations lost to a stark-eye lull.
A riptide anxiety broke the exchange
of warm beer, recall and focal laughs.
Retreat: the enclosure of a mystic.
That wooden-fixed anchoress that
never fixed her hair for love, never
toiled the earth for a showing, but
pitied herself to recollect her Trinity.
Fallen men became breakfast, stuck to
a ruined bed that was her square for
an uncomfortable bliss that was sure
and the vehicle for our heaven.
game of spurring. Ajax had played his
jacks for tonight.
Their equations lost to a stark-eye lull.
A riptide anxiety broke the exchange
of warm beer, recall and focal laughs.
Retreat: the enclosure of a mystic.
That wooden-fixed anchoress that
never fixed her hair for love, never
toiled the earth for a showing, but
pitied herself to recollect her Trinity.
Fallen men became breakfast, stuck to
a ruined bed that was her square for
an uncomfortable bliss that was sure
and the vehicle for our heaven.
