Possessions and scarecrow
stand in noon-gone.               Voice!
stand in noon-gone.               Conflicted King,
once a beggar followed in markets
by a Nubian goat,

flockless, flightless —

One lugnut goat.

In the birth drawers,
              blazes of bandicoots.
And now, coming in threes
by a flute of feathers,
their tails
              shades of peeled citrus. I am
dinner in my knowledge.
You cannot push
yourself into the future
with your feet.

Beggar, it is you
              thrust from the crowd
to ask, “Let look us!”
Like lightening
reoccurrence flickers
on bleakest blackest

Dot Devota (© 2009)