26
other forms of boredom
by Jared Duran
fall around the head of the artist
who contemplates placing his in the oven,
though there is little dignity in death by convection.
Men of costume,
men of coat and tails,
men with mouths full of feathers
know the best way to keep
the mine open and profitable
is to eat the canary before it goes down.
Men of uniform,
men of spinning chamber,
men with lead, neck ties, agendas—
few things are more frightening
than men of certainty and means
enough to buy influence and worldview.
The wet season brings rusty joints
down with heavy rain. Doors struggle to open
and close as the moisture swells and expands
wood, hair, a lay-about disposition, and a stay-in-bed notion.
Sparks of anger,
sparks of lost and futile,
sparks know ash, and strain
not to collect and fill the corners
with heavy thought, self-defeating prophecy.
Ash of sigh,
ash of wrong and stubborn,
ash kicked from the hoof of a mule
who won’t so much as look at the plow,
much less drag it through the fields.
Suns set themselves.
There is brooding to be done.