Chaos Comes Apart

"Morning Flies Far"

Confounding the stupefied senses, the
syllabus, schedules of uninformed winner
you've reliably opened a festering wound,
spending lunch money upon trinkets of dinner

Empty the cup that was never quite full,
all the seats cold and audience, waiting
there's no more rind or gristle to eat
and no one left, to hear the debating

Slink down now into entertaining covers
and call it all finally done, for a life
wasted and somehow full of wonder,
no loud report, but fish round for a knife

And instantly recall, in blissful drudgery,
some things can't be cut by the cannon gun
whether eight more lines or only a million
some faces watch, from which you don't run

Quiet cannibals, eating your sorrows
angels who lift any plagues from your land
mouths that sit, ready for morsels
morsels that come from only your hand

Sing now, with wretched rooster of morning
sing loud of his majesty and curse his name
take small solace in dimwitted knowledge...
no one is salvation and no one's to blame