Winter Halls
M Sarki

I am still my belly. And my
virulence is not interested
in your recognition of me

or your recent knowledge
of my genius, nor your
versions of my avoirdupois.

I would sooner see you touch
a finger to your head and
reach again for the

goldfish on the shelf.
Never before has one so
decided stood forth.

Pointed for the eddy of his
doom. It is a hard labor
that holds sloth back.

The thought of one thought
to think.

1996 © 2003