Il Zoppo

Coyotes at 4:39am. Yip the dark.
"The great achievement is to lose
One's reason for no reason." All

Sinks through the floor without
Stopping within the material mind
That has to live with faked mistakes.

We are, the proverbs prefer, born
Naked, thence transported naked
To the grave. Nothing ventured,

Nothing gained, nothing lost
Along the way. Not true, not you.
You acquired a gait you have to lose.

You hobble over to a window, haul
On your bones, haul on the blinds,
Seek out the sources of those cries.

It's too dark, and you know it.
You're too dark, and it knows you.
The coyotes, what do they know?

You don't, don't want to lose it. You

Don't want it to lose you. You beg
Devices, intricate machines, signs

Built out of no more than the history
Of signs, emblems, algorithms,
Insignia, the meaning of lives, cries

Since not so long after the beginning
Of lives, possibly before. Oh, matter
For good old-fashioned madness

Here. Welcome to culture. You heard
Them. You read this. You said things.
You wrote things. You wrestled

With the winged demon crying
The unsayable, jealous name of One,
Little man. Big war. Hence this limp.