from ringing, glass bell
brass plate
the timid flutter
of a flute sustained
on a child's undertone
laugh at the webs
in the knobby fingers of the oak
laugh at death
working silent in the womb
laugh at the eyes
which look, like hooded men, waxy
hands on waxy cheeks,
from silvered pools, thin and tinged
with sulphur, in the forests
of the witches' night
laugh at me, comet-trail,
shade of dust, coronal ice,
the mark of worlds' passing-
whither and whence
are black; devoid of answer
the substance moveth on
laugh at the wind
which mutes the cry
of the spirits' fiery tears
laugh at the sea
which aches with a monster's lust
to have the shore in its belly
yes, laugh
laugh at the stars
you soothe yourself with
in hopes of becoming light
laugh at the earth
who looks at you
rumbling with arousal
laugh, and feed me
the whey and oats of your laughter
here, in your breast, in your body,
our ears have fallen silent
and there's nothing in our eyes
but the bright arc of your laughter
O night.
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