Hardware

You lean disconsolate on your stool, Sullen and certain As minor royalty rusticated to this Unhelpful climate of solvents, gaskets, pliers, and bolts. Because they are new and manifold and useful You feel their whispers against you. The staunch Resistance of objects. How can I tell you O my soul, To exhaust the realm of the possible when Ever the light Is uncongenial as February and your hand unlovely? Like a dog nearly annihilated by nerves And boredom chewing her paw to sore, red velvet, You’ve torn your nails so far flesh swells Closed around each bed like an eyeless socket. That you should be making such small change! Fingers inarticulate as moles nudge a debris Of dimes not thick enough to hide The candy-colored butterfly flaring Across the tender, veined delta of your hand Heralding indelibly the eviction Of this vulgar flesh Or the one word needled in black, knuckle-Gothic