The Book of M, Chapter VI

BIT

1.

The moan of
dead
waves. White

curves of cloud.
The scream
of sea fowl.

It was Tuesday. For
M, his
death warrant,

the future,

lay at
the crags, like
a dog.

2.

Weighed. Surrounded.

Concluded.

A silence
he could not trust

remained
within himself.
Live on, memory.

All this will
pass
as the carpenter fixed

the last roof timbers.

3.

For M, it was
easy
to carry out

instructions.

Agate sun
grown
thin, yellow.

He did not pass
closely.
The years

he had lived
pushed
up into a corner

out of his gaze.

4.

Prayers
said with wandering
mind:

Art thou he that
hath eaten?

By the sword shalt
thou live.
Dominion shalt break

thy neck and
sleep
a sleep full of dreams.

5.

“I must be
mad,”
thought M. A reference

in the margin.
Instrument
of vengeance.

Wrongdoer trying
to compose

himself. His nervous
fingers

could not rest.

 

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