saturday night stanza

The Black Chair

Sit in the black chair like a space monkey,
The terminal twinkle of whose eye hints:
Logic has not failed you. You have failed you.
And you bind your primate digits in splints,
Strangling, entangling prospect like kudzu,
And listen for the steps of the turnkey

While the sparrow’s darting need
Until now a hopeful prayer,
Is spare in the fluttering bright glare.
Consider its refrain:
The rustling strain.
Tamely there, but in singular care
Endeavoring to prepare—
Moderate, while you exceed.

B.M.F.
11.21.09