The March

You don't have enough brass here
for a whole band, they told me
urging felonies from my eyes
spurning words that stealth
inflicts, upon the marble
wounds. Freezing
he pleaded with the vanguard
but the mask that washes the night
went on spinning. Ballast
was denied again. No bond
of flash could echo the dyne
as we frayed, bleeding into flames.
I carried the region on my neck.
Our flowing feet made the standard music.

2000