Hobble-Horse
Harm, Sir—
scarlet geyser,
dead inroad,
the entrails’ ode.
O Mother Mortis,
you bitter, rigorous
toad, your tunnel
blind as the mole
who went before.
Dr. Onlooker,
what for this wet
wound unloosed?
Wooden Tooth,
Broken Star,
take this
my poultice:
remember
the tortoise
& forget
the hare.
