Michael Diehl, Last Light
FINETOOTH COMB
*
tap tappa tap
tap pixilated
woodpeckers riddle the high hollows (except
one beginner drilling the rusted
steel-bed wheelbarrow below)– if
you insist if you insist it’s
almost time,
it’s just about time.
**
Come-comealong,
sez who sez Simon
Simpleton sez you’ll whirl out
one flamboyant death star soon,
comet of our intimates, however
honeysuckling still, sipping today’s
sunrisen up out of an
ashen yesterdusk. Simon
Simpleton says not
***
for nothing does any asterisk
socked in the slings of gravity
hurl weight around & around & skip
orbit over & out. Simon
says shrug off my green
pullover, resume
skimming your ancient skull with luck
enough maybe to finger some
two or three thin brave braids together, or not.
______________
Martha Zweig