Speculum

 

This is a proposition about bodies, yours and mine,

Book in hand, the one about god–

 

Book in hand and look at all the blind ones

And the lame, and deaf ones–

 

Weren’t they in the ink?

Weren’t they the alchemy all along?

 

The electrolysis, how it sparks,

travels through dust, enters the tongue

 

All to say “us” and “hazard”

Without remorse.

 

We know the early angels were bent.

William Blake saw them, our true father.

 

I walk with my stick on roads of green joy.