Vernon Frazer & Michelle Greenblatt

The torrents breath their sacral hush, a tidal sigh

before

               R U S H I N G

                      epistolary fragments.

New

iotas

scream

                                  quota transfers among

the thickets

                                    brushed with thorns thick

                                           with syrupy sound

and when the circle widens I will

                                                   be there

a whistle a wave a windowpane a                      grin

                                                                        of

anticipation

                                                    waiting

                              to

welcome your return

from hiding in the land of dead legends, ease your pain again

but the truth---the "legality"---the "constitutionality" makes

need of a mighty secret

                 which now charms the public

and even if I--suddenly--found myself in a not a very big

                                          room

would smash through the walls and crash through the doors so I could

                     inherently hear

                                                       the real voices

                                       dealing

       from their deck

                               of smoking jokers:

                       an amendment to feel gay about

smirking ruthlessly outside my cell. The shattered walls,

the shattered

voices

distant

               as my slashing shiv

                                               encroaches on inviolate scoundrels

and my big blue verse without

                  words

slip-slides towards a final

                                        C L I M A X.