Wind rattles the panes of your cage
like the ice in your glass,
strapped for battles your brothers drive past.
The visits like tolls on those seldom-walked trails,
aloe rubbed on the burns of insults to your sails.
Wind torments neat shelves, scatters banquets of whores,
unbound informations where demons wrought blight,
silent ways to storm off in response to “good night”.
Beds protect (and expose) dual kingdoms and clothes
that owl deeper than mice in the bottoms of swamps –
lookers-on give reports
Your band was delayed,
recompense for your crime,
painting pennants that climb
up the walls of your shame -
scorched stragglers, lame,
reap their mellow from junk in the drawer:
mild curses intoned -
the shackles that bind us to home
higher tolls beg,