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Sport 40: 2012
flutter
flutter
those are
the storms the blind
ends of winter the
equinox pushes
deep into my heater my temper
is feverish with heating wind
ties the ends the fear
of one born an aristocrat
in my walls concrete a tearing
and tearing these days
my name is annette
isn’t
it good when waking
waxes under the sun
nothing can remain
hidden the sea hare
sits in my braids the same
as a well behaved child
I call through my walls
it penetrates like: tower
everyone knows
I am protected waving
to my concrete coiffure