Stone Period

I am hearing the words
and not reading them,
I said. The Cave said,
oh good, it’s working,
welcome back, breath,
into, under our silver
bell, errant ear. Yes,
come, servant scroll,
said a formal chinook
dragging itself downhill,
a rusty fishhook of air,
a brisk basket of fear
that would have me
a motion of its own.

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My Cave Embarrassment

I like to be born and I like to bloviate.
Yadda yadda. There is a cave
with a tiny Plato inside it.
And I go there every day. I find the dark
subterranean roses. And I bathe them.
I use the old tub I was born in.
It is battered and makes a horrible sound
when I drag it across the cave floor.
My cave’s neighbors think that is me
clearing my throat every morning. What a nightmare!
But it is impossible to explain. So the neighbors
in the next cave own my heart unlawfully.