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Clade Song 10 left

Clade Song 10

Dogsick tired and worm-hearted tool you’ll grapple
in your summer places no more.   A handful

changes hands.  Warm Springs, worshipful
wedge against languages you’ll speak but not

hear spoken.  We best batten the wretches
down while the doors still retain their hinges.

Tune the speaker to whatever’s on high.
Bolder climes test the mettle you’re unmade by.

Going nowhere’s faster now:  It’s fixed
in surgical procedure.  You’re the no one

you always knew yourself to be. Feel
yourself out.  Even satellites find no purchase.

You wear your own effigy like an animal
you’ve skinned.  Give no quarter to the raw palm

turned up to you.  Prepare to accept none
when the disguise wears thin.  Nothing’s here to see.

 

 
Clade Song 10 right

James Maughn is the author of four books of poetry, The Arakaki Permutations and Playing the Form, with Black Radish Books, Kata with BlazeVox, and These Peripheries, with Otoliths.  He lives and teaches in Santa Cruz, CA.  In his free time, he studies the martial arts, and enjoys taking crystal-clear photos of slightly out-of-focus animals.