Once night is done

A frog city has moved and ran camp
where it once was quiet as a bloodstream.
Is a pulse twice a night, thirty times
come noon as cannons choose their adopted
children to drag back harping. All puff-sacs
and deranged legs the air catches,
all filler where else there would be silence
I ignore or fall mad, face to window,
glad I can’t hear and see rarely fires
eject into the near distance. Come daybreak
the music is in hiding, the cacophony
cleans its eyes with branded knuckles,
cleans its ears for the notes of slaughter
unseeing and deaf itself from eruptions:
come daybreak it is all too clear,
the bright shells and bright faces
turned to soup the ground lets in.

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~ by Jeremy on January 25, 2011.

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