Calvary

The chasm of sleep opened in me,
in the dark, in the night,
and, perlious to face the day,
my feet spoke upon the floor
of sweat and dust and unread mysteries
flying from the crop of my tousled head,
heeding something feint, out of sight -
that gather there in the distance, squawked
of tongues labile in the service courtier.

Blue moons tangential to the fact,
the plain fact, of the hours closing upon
night. And the rest followed swiftly...

Daybreak come unto the fierce maylay
walking, soldering buss to buss,
wanderers walking in flirtation with
Christ, and an abominable sentence veered...

What wayward mischief! What sounds merrily made!
I heard a thousand voices that morning,
rummaging through the buckets of their Mage
to discover - what? Fancy's vain enterprise,
a couple of bucks spent on mustard and rye,
and we pass too simply into the muster of everything...