xylophones have crept into my love life
that dapple-thonged thousand-eared headband
that shaved the thick-feathered whirlwind
and scanned the hopeful sandals of dawn
that gentle grief of the golden flower

my clothes are dust
my friends are skin

the noise of the thin moon
its soft oars
your tiny ears like the young sea
the dust of singing

now hear the moon’s footsteps
her supple unhappiness
she brandishes the dust of our hair
your blood
the dust of the gods
I am a man scared of his own ears
heart thick with the heartless mallets
of xylophones so cold and
undanceable
at least by these feet

and like I says to Plato
I’m tired of living in a cave
clawing the walls
trying to get a sunburn from shadows