Shake me hard
if I speak in tongues
bang my head
bring me ’round again
hide me in the hemlock
corners of a hedgerow maze
tat my wedding veil
from Queen Anne’s Lace
overcast pine-green days
where our circle has regressed
to snacking on morsels
from glue traps
chasing it down
with poke berry juice
our joints are inverted
at odd angles
hypothetically apocalyptic
pathetically elliptic
the smallest contaminants
of the planet hold sway
while we scratch away
the scabs for hours
the tedium
of delirium tremors
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
