not one can resist her impulse to drown.
It is kind of sexy, the oceans
inside her conspiring to sustain
the rhapsody. Leaves fall. Every skeptic
leaves her side a heretic, more devout
for having felt her tug. Leaves fall inside
the bishop's head. He cannot sleep. She fucks carp
to earn his light, fucks eels and pike. The dogwood blooms.
An icecap's as inductive as his thought --
the whole of it awake and bright with worship.

"the loosed hounds coursed inward to the zero"

Copyright © 1996
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Path of Least Resistance
Cover of Episode 8