8/17/2019 Coverup.pdf

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Coverup

My dry tongue was a brass, tuneless trumpet,lashing involuntary cat calls, andspitting mannequin opinions into

a vessel cracking with the sum of myshouts, my throat smearing in the silvery,smooth silk of a chain-smoked night.

But,my heart wasgazingUp at the ceiling of some strange starlit tabernacle.

 while We were moving upand downbut mostly sideways.

 Te dawn’s blush red ngers tore open the veil of my black and blue eyes.In old stones of a destroyed room, I woke a lonemule for the morning’s weight, giving a shruggedsacrice throw over a strait jacketof soot with a dash of hot water, colddull, bent razor blade, and the sculpting teeth of a comb.

My face blind in the sickly light of someitching indiff erence.

Before a crooned tipsy stutter, a glancecompassed, a greying, slow siren asmy hands recoiled at the death of the day.