Late Argument w/ Minotaur

poem #120

photo by the author

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You said it was late. Your word
brought the enormity forward, collapsed 
in your night-blue hand. 
      It was the labyrinth folded
            and solved by an idiot.

You said it’s too late by way 
of elaboration—revealed the maze
      in the streets and animals:
the city’s old calumnies
      against erased Eden.

Untouchable fire spun in her porchlights,
      now sing enough anger to sound
this side of our window in tones
of restless vacuity — justice
            is only remembering.

Just sing sleep and sing melancholy—
            we must remember to rest,
      but recall: I am the thrown animal
who came by way of the sea to the street, 
      who lows in a road with no memory.

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