The Collected Poetry

Murmur

I cut like a scalpel,

and I separate man.

I tear at the fabric,

and I scratch my own face.

I ring out in silence,

and I scavenge for raw meat.

You hear me around like a,

Dark green grey threat of violence,

I am the foot soldier of the fall,

Smoke that moves too quick like rabies,

Questions and questions like I _ and _,

The _ of intact, I answer, trumpet like,

All that I _, play a dirge in a lower key,

Am, am, am, am, tomb-like and certain.

I muddy the ice age,

and I deafen the thaw.

I sing like a cobra,

and I dress in shock white.

I hurt and I hurt,

and I glance back some more.