The lord doctor sits on the other side
of health from me. It’s a wall come between
flat & white &
spackled in places—
I was a student of ELOQUENCE.
I’d shape my mouth into a fountain
& out the names cascaded in June—
My brain is described in slow sentences
in similes like: grapefruit, telephones,
the medieval district of a city.
In ELOQUENCE though I couldn't fit
the madness in—no icy jackhammer
pneumatics, no I-can’t-hear-myself-think
Progress: the loss of neuron & synapse
Progress: tall lights of a stadium shut
one by one until the ballpark is left
in darkness. Then degeneration of
the temporal. Then furrows will close
the furrows the cheering voices carved
in the air will close. This is what happens—
cerebellum, the beautifulest sound
in the room
I rested my length in its green meadows.