Seven Years of Famine, Seven Years of Feast
fevers, dreams
101, 102, 103 degrees
mercury spikes in the bulb
explodes in the hand
or mouth
and St. Peter’s
feverish
at the potter’s wheel
while the wheel spins
in the potter’s mind
so I feel I have hard heads
hard words
knocked down in the pit
drugged in the pit
in the pit
while my brothers played
numbers over me
who am I?
*
who are they?
who they were
who do you think you are
turning the furnace back up
exploding the Chinese Brothers inside
exploding
little Shadrach Meshach Abednego
little Solomon, chopping the dog in half
of all this energy
did you dream
did you dream
did you dream
of the woman again?
was she taking something from you?
*
Dance with me, hard head
little kiln
little egg, sticky-egg
white egg, Faberge (egg)
so for the days we’ll have off
Lady Fatima’s fortune-bread
the dough before it’s baked
sticky with ingredients
egg white
vanilla white
sugar white
salt white
water white
flour white
incandescent
head you’re broken
take that
Paul, ciao.
Buon Anno. amica.
David, this is indeed feverish. Clever title, too.
Happy New Year.