Whet Anchorage

Anchor cut

Frothing regret & promise of a pillow--

The past through hurt—

Discovered out of the lightness

Put velvet between my vertebrae:

The glands of a man are ill-built hands,'

Adept to seize

Put velvet between my vertebrae,

I relent—

                         let others gather your poses.

I am tired of rending

In the rind of your elbow--

A standby tree, snailly emotive,

Flexing thirst,  

Along distance whets

The eye a metaphor of toys,

Harbingers of gesture satcheled

Past hurt in the insipid nightbread

Muffining of the violent glass.