Someone inside says, "Get busy." But I've got appointments to keep, I have an abstemious love of equations calculated quickly While the tepid day melts into design. And the high cheekbones of the beautiful life Bear the loose look of a calendar by lamplight. I search for patterns in everything. I am tied in knots of comprehension. I think, how useful it might be To pierce all the hands of the earth With an oath of pins encircling snarling planets But talent and shallowness sewn together Is nothing but a kerchief tied around a survivalist's head, And it helps to know the feet wriggling through a hole In the universe will land for an instant Upon the cushions of the dark, And that after marching one doozy of a kilometer after another, We each come upon the same poem scribbled in invisible ink Taped to the door of a room In which an austere justice is burning for us.
From 4 by Noelle Kocot, published by Four Way Books. Copyright © 2001 by Noelle Kocot. Reprinted by permission of Four Way Books. All rights reserved.