Author Joseph Heywood
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Remaindered Place
[Deer Park, MI, June 7, 2013] 

Awake in the broken meat of night,
The air clangorous with goose barks,
Insects slamming helter-skelter
Into the glass door, seeking light
And presumably salvation?
The neighborhood bear nightly troops
Its line of bird-feeders, holding
An injured paw held up high.
Shaksper yip-dreams out on my bed
While I work at the a table
Above his cave-den cum-bed.
Resident Caspians sound like
They are throttling one another,
While frenetic seabirds sing songs
Better sung in distant Bedlams.
Light suggests at half-zed-four-zip
In hoped-for time of long light
Lives all arush to finish cycles
Before endless winter returns.
(Far-away Amhoric lingo
Has a two-three-six -character alphabet;
English babbled hereabouts is far less complex.)
We are a remaindered place
Redolent of a long-dead time,
Now devoid of necromancers.


 
 
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