Day 51

5/7/2006

It comes on clean dyspeptic green,
A silent, subtle scent
That wanders long on stuttered song
Of shrill accouterment.

To endless aching, arcing pall
That scuttles 'round the tented hall
To take a rail of splendid paling,
Cobble-toting, model-holding
Painted parliament.

I break a clipped certificate
That satisfies all mien
Of indispense or reticence
(He can't be too-well seen).

I know the note, it's cool and won't
Be missed for pause or pitch.
A longing for the troubadour
Will splay the burning itch.

I hold the lamp beside the door.
I gesture in to lead before
The candles flicker out.

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