to the albatross

 

the poet is prince
in the ruin of truth
(that hiss...)

 

the antechamber quivers
in kind, the outward chamber
contains
               you contain a few of these
               chambers filled with blood
quivering, ruin of truth

 

leaks with sound of serpent
licking apple cores
vegetable vulnerability

 

baskets of collected cold air
the room quivers in synchronicity
the room quivers
               as cold moonlight, like tides
               takes out the timbers
jerusalem pines
ruined carpet