close, keep the matters of the matters
shaking like my fingers. i've skimmed the blood
and shaded the denial—silver, beaming.
take the pillars, take the beacons: make them
skip a beat like a hundred notions
over the hill and under the clouds.
days of sweat and vigor, weights of seventh chords
and staccato. i'm wailing, my head cranked up
as the coyote, the wild dog a-brewing
who bears his teeth and sinks them into
dry, chewy flesh. what goes up
must be my envy; what comes down must fall
into my drooling mouth.