come funnelling down to
NOW
and he is struck by
the taste of
unwilling gravel
eaten on a fall

(lips italicized first,
then numb,
then bloody)

gritty
slate

fractured stone like
chips of teeth in his mouth
which don't go away when he
opens
wails

a snake in the henhouse driving out
theoretical answers to heretical questions:

where is his body?
what is the city?

his eyes are fixed now by catholic order on the
first national bank, but they still
quietly seek the answers as fervently as any
Galileo under house arrest in Boston.

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