The Wake

I
your milled (school), (aged) twitter-pitter-patter whose cat’s got whose tongue
Po Li Ticks
ain’t what makes the flowers grow.
only your promises flower, elaborate lies sprouting from the radio
into my charming, crackling, crumbling
put-up-the-lace curtains now
mouse house
in the city.

II
to feed the machine, (to keep the wheels turning, cogs moving, billows blowing, fibers twitching)

tell me by grumbles are a Noble Cause,

make a Dramatic Pause,

tell me, tell me of the big-skies-heart-wings future

if you want applause.

I want a because.

III
power-suited square man
speaks only decisive Words that betray
no Fear
no Doubt
but also…
no humility
or sense of humor.