My notes assembled in the crevice of sleep.
Love melted armor for a second or two:
On to another stage. I’m not about to repeat
The things I thought I heard you say.
“O psychic rose,” I called out in the stillness,
A passage marked by a spear, a jet of steam:
Last night I dreamed of Vandelay again.
I sat beside you for a minute.Then you left
And still I kept the thing you might have made.
Yes, I embraced that ancient faith, a swerve
That no other reader managed to navigate.
Sweet distended kisses, words to appease
My emperor. My final emperor,
Who set the game to match. How may I blank you?
Copyright © 2016 John Beer
Used with the permission of Canarium Books.