time Out –

the disequilibrium of drunken soothsaying

untethers its audience; to the hearing

there is nothing but silence, long drawn-out

cadenza underscored with incision

of a deaf-man’s inheritance; who

are the shadows, then, who stand leagues off,

gnawing at our shirtsleeves?  Should

we call to them, Now, our half-sisters

in purgatory?  With prayers

we may ease their suffering; or are we

too late?  Diamond-back

      adjudicators

of some forgotten Statute have come to us

hungering for absolution – are

they worthy?

                 (are we?)

the populace shifts and grins -- we

are only unholy here in these our half-formed

     utterances

awaiting a kind of succulent

embrace –

                              *