stonette-du-jour

.













Stonette-du-jour
(for Dr. Michael “Alacrity” Youds,
on his return of some books)


I put the furniture back from whence it came
a life ago, still autumn seeps early. It’s January,
but when I open the doors leaves troop through
the cobwebs to settle in the corners. My

desk grows wings from the feathers I lean to
collect beneath the trees in the mornings from
my bed through here across the washout to the
store. These sky folk are not sea birds, but

they can do the business. A small Dionysiosaur
eats the Portuguese millipedes twice a week;
magpies and rats love my bolognese; I gas
the blowflies before they lay their marching rice,

and great books long aloft return like ancient
condors to shit refreshed upon my shelves.


Philip White












.