dolia

I keep
        mystery
        on my sleeve;
peacocks fall as fuzz
              from
pea coats,
but not mine;
I deeper ↔ have
     pockets,
           more
brittle           leaves
               ;a
lapel        that  re-
  pels  every
              fairy
             it   sees—
such       is a      fitting
      garb  for  one
             wanton
      gyp  -    sy, as
             happy  as
                  he      can
                  be   —
yet,
       tonight
I                 think
       there
       flurries,                      out
up    -
       on
       the       brink,
of
little th   -              ings
          that
          flock
      and   skip
      and       twink'
                ,
              or        -
      gasmic      in
       their       eve-
            ry
          tiny    blink              . . .
      my
      moth-         er
          took      her
       fancy       in
       the         ones
    with                wings
                ,
      mis  -          taking
                     one
             for                         
      Gabriel ,    one
             for
          Michael
              or
                a       thing;
but
I    know
       there
            more
       to
       these
   than
just    heavenly
                   dreams
                    (in -
duced              by
       al'manic
          manner
of                  key
                      by
                      lite
of  electric      kite-
                        string);
             for
             here
I                     flit',
             here
I                 stop
          to         sip
          the          rain,
          to     gather
          whether in
          throw       -  ing
off   golden
          feathers
I                 have
                  been
                        sane
          to     capture
                  ev'ry
          meteorite
                     by
                        name,
down   my
       glassy neck
                      in-
          to        my
                 bottle-
                       frame,
            'haling Heaven's
fires    to          light
                     my veins
                            (nestling
   petals           of
                     my
                  collar:
                 blackened
                        -
                  crimson
                        sash
             for
                        shame;
                 blossomed
                 bat-wings
                  cuddle
       g             -in
                       in
                        svelte
                        sau
                        -
          toir
          torn
             from  my
                 br  -im);
       now            sucking
d      -own          said
                        Seraph
                      -im,
I                 cork
                     my
          mouth
      and              settle
                         satyrs'
       nitroglycerins
          to
             fix
          this
            elixir    of
                         stale,
                         sp   -
      ark               - ling
                         sin;
I          kiss
          the    cauter
        on          my
                   ch-in
      and
          then                       . . .
                     my
                     head
                    (my
                     heart)
                        —
                   bronze
                    eyes
                        in
                   brows
                    em-
                   broidered
                        in
                        —
          the        Earth
                        shakes
    with       a      s      -
                           pin
                                       . . .