Don't Touch Dead Animals

Part one the song's begun Around and around the needle slinks And with each passing bar The circle shrinks Round and round and round she goes And if reversed the circle grows A hazy regard tethers me to the redbrick hill Where it's always an early, misty grey Whose eminence lay in the peas beyond the wall And corralled its cloudy eye black to bleat Some held out gusty day compelling me to give up Constantly moving around buckets in a room To catch blood only visible to the robin in grey And blurred into the carpet by the stairs a rosy visionaire Purposefully early came the ivy-gartered day Sending to bed all the greater creatures and rousing every ruminant See each low animal with a stomach on the wane Each morning baby's eight perfect toes and the eight things they represent I'm guiding blind and bleeding bodies in the bay I'm guiding cold and congregating ululates by accident Part two We continue Each tiny groove the needle fill Contains within what smaller still Analogous ariel Becomes a paper With a hole Propellor of Death is a lucky whirl No shiny climby silver stair Found secret in a book I read Between pages one and a hundred-one Reveal a druggy follicle finding Sweat and pounded'round Some unliving pile Evasive with the vigor of vanity Lapse a dog is symmetrical Sermon on tape to remind me Translation of God into a comedy My constant shady articulation of form An outside exultante I feel it's iron and brick to a greater profanation Here lies the exultation of an ordained aberrant There isn't any more time to mend all the moss in the mound Each moist molecule replays the facts in an atomonous web of weary I'm telling you this because I don't want us to be divided Sojourn and walk a sightless vocation through the murky mezzanine I'm standing atop the crystalline winter weaving That troubles itself to sink in the skyless morning divided Over and over, again and again, the whistling Of the spectral bird that I'm riding A parochial fistula in the furrow of a holy bazaar Behold the gasp that's my inevitable punctuation I can't stand in the sight of the eyeless morning divisa Unpopular methods of cosmogonal factuous inimity uncreatin What I see is a marble spiraling 'round a negative drain