Vermont Work, pt. II

The light by which I work, transformed
now by windowpanes into a new character
on the page.
The remnant of all other unfinished works.

each thought a sonogram for a reader.

Here in uncontested delirium the poem is written.
Each letter pressed upon the page, a hideous mark.
Crude symbols of arcane witch-workings and prisons
built each day, coincidently. Byproducts of a law
left too frequently unrevised, paper bags for liquid
contents. Invisible caltrops expelled with plumes of
spittle from the mouth, the pen. To each his own
unbattened hatches and un-coiled lines, languishing in
silent menace across the desk.