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   s p a r k l e s    a r e    t h e    c h a m b e r    w h e r e i n

--- C H R I S   M A R T I N

I sit with a caged bride
and am totaled 

by my 

love for the irreparable 
music of the copy


like puncturing
yourself in the floodplain

of the Ganges 

or sleeping about manatees 
through a mid-day flight

I rise and do

a luau jig in porkshoes
a breaded life vest

about the bones

of my shoulders
should I err on

the side of posterity

what unforeseen good will
gilded ink do me and my

ilk in the pre-apocalypse calm?

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