OPENING LINE

After such profound 

eternities 

of stillness, unknowable 

darkness, 

and silence,

somehow,
every morning, through
gunmetal clouds

of our strange
mute unknowing,

which still rage 

like mad above 
the tops our shoulders—

a clean, warm 

electrical light 

of first thought

will flash its 

effulgent
and pliant pith,

setting something 

deep within us
rumbling sympathetically—

until, eventually, 

night's formidable 

seal is burst open

and this strange 

hectic drivel begins

to rain down 

in wet
jazzy patterns 

which consecrate 

this strange dispensation 

of our doubt—

as our mouths 
flicker open 

to dispel 

the whole drought.