ayaladn

an occasion, when we met,

at the alley crossed sidewalk,

interception dear to her

white hair and ragged gown,

dim-blue cotton catching the ground,

while the dog in asana understood

the path she obeyed, trailing

a chain-linked rock-field debris

of a torn-down factory waste,

to lay low but one winged stone,

dust blowing through the sun

risen in her hair before her

a frail old woman

is not wrapped in a warm coat

nor given love’s gold

 

inconsiderate

how you walk away again

stranger to her fold

 

she’ll not understand

the sudden hardheartedness

but the ravens scold

Albeit…’like gilt

on top a corrosive base,’

she could disappear,

 

or diaphanous,

variate barbarity,

from its pointless now,

 

into decadence,

‘invasive restoration

that wants no beauty…’

‘If we use deadwood,

to burn a Papuan witch,

who’ll pick up the sticks…’

 

fn: no-1 could,

but rewriter in rehab

with a closet broom

 

drinks papaya juice,

while the ward’s wet nurse drowns

smoking cigarettes

let us hunt and peck

fastidious cannibals

who in fancy-dress’d

 

animalism

prefer vegetarians

to pacifiers

 

while the UFO’s

more casual omnivores

pickup 1’s lefto’er