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Cygnet of Orient

Life is a covariant ritual

which is to say

things are always changing
but the mechanism is immutable


Fear of lawns is my dojo

when the mercury is high
I bask in the heat of my hidden fundament

which is to say

<Dear Terror:

There is no subtext>

The dark pond offers up its turquoise,
a cygnet molts upon its periphery

I once said to her: hair metal is the new avant-garde
and what I meant was -

β€œI will wait by the campus fountain
with dusky comportment of a cave youth”

(also said but not said: I miss when β€œarcade” didn't mean digital)


The concept of true multiplicity is forever strange -
our language of opposites is duplicitous


I will build myself a mirrored world, and live in it
and only the cygnet will know where to find me.


Can you hear it now in the orient tree
shouting out my abstruse location?