for a moment

the tight places 2

swansdown packed into a banked shell--
the excesses and impositions of
cracking. pellucid walls breaking up like jericho's.

it's just a song on the radio, you jerk, you think,
quite lucidly--a sluice of light, a ream packed in
from head to bottom--the last temptations of

control and denial.

just a song, so why this...nonsense...bursting
almost next to nothing, feathering
across the senses, white and so light, packing in
against the eyes, the nose, the tongue and lips,
against the ears, every available inch of epidermis.

that white shell wall cracking
below the note.