Anchorite
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Do you see the smoke?
It melts the canopy frost.
Below, an anchorite shivers near his chimney.
My father sent me to visit this man.
In solitude he sings the song that God etched into his tongue.
He was old, yes, he had a beard.
I grew dumb.
Why do I wake up to be flesh and makeup?
Flesh, maybe, yes--and endless mess.
How could I wake her, she the toothache faker, when I'm caught beneath an upturned cup.
Baby, maybe I'm a baby, or a man, or a bug.
Whatever, I feel bad.
Having tried, I want to cry having done everything short of anything at all.