from Hermeneutics

Michael Martin Shea

There is no “golden letter”
                                                 I wake, uneasy, remembering love
and all morning in a hot bed                           in statements which are inextricable from their woe
                       and then we get to her bed which is not your bed
morning of tea and showers, which are inextricable               [some sort of “golden letter”]
in a haze of confusion             I wake
                                                             It is an act of devotion            the lesson
When I am old, I will listen to soft music, in socks
                         in a hot bed

            felt world          crisp world                 world I love


subscribed to the poetics of culture                              I move
             slow in mooring                                  possession is the object’s nodal power
                         the dying wish: let not this moment subsume all others
visions of a spectral geometry
                                                                                                                           [a memoir]
                         the headaches result from not drinking enough water
radial points, scissoring outward                       the width
                                                               you left your jacket [was that on purpose?]
            terrible idea                  good idea for night terrors