The Illness Lair

The hot
is like the world
it's not

a silver streak
but's bracing.

This afternoon
the subplot's
brought

a sickly lass
upon a cot,

though what disease
she's really got,

is false, or vain
or else ill got.

And here
we sit,
or there,
or there,

and her disease
is everywhere

and we both know
a pear's a pear

stuck here
turgid
the Illness Lair.

Without reprieve,
and in despair.

Sick! Sick!

[The children]

The children
are swimming
alone
in the evening.

The water is lithe
it is cold
it is pleading.

The appellate court
will soon purport

that apathy
is no retort

or sympathy
at the airport

or cherry torte
the swirling Oort.

And when they hand
the verdict down

the gallery
will frown and drown

in that we can
not love or hate

and that this state
will not abate.

[Sapping power]

Sapping power
from a tower,
shallow reserves.

and in the afternoon
I swoon

faint

a tree
wheels me

enduring
the summer
sun

caves evade
me then.