fiats hush us

"An infant cries because it breathes and lives. Later it stops crying and starts to babble, but the inner cry does not subside, and a grown man cries with the same ancient cry of a newborn baby muffled within. Social decorum drowns out this cry--it is a pure abyss. The poetry of young people and adults is often this very cry, the atavistic, ceaseless cry of an infant." --Mandelshtam

The Philosopher and the Wolf.

     "Sonnets to Chango: X."

Iron pleasures of the hunt yield irony
of ev'ry sought thing grasped · as in the proverb
only the skies of past days tempt our envy
oxycontin haze till Never the Twelfth
this Jovian latitude yclept our Doldrum
air that like terroir a funny car sculpts
& never again the same as passed the jaguar
in the night. Graywyvern hoards these zimmes in aspic
drastic vowel ill-met by moonlight hoodlum
& scaly casino, shadow of a woman
mortals come to know Cynothoglys incest
which Chango smithereens--ancestral problem--
trapezohedral city of basalt ebon
one whisper escapes from an unocculted stulm