Such deep pain has no outlet

where flows
the pain,
the flowering stain
so streaked with angry brushstrokes:
inside, it ambushes
rushes toward its thrushes,
there
to sur[prise].

the chirping of the swallows,
morning's gossip
releases to relieve,
something slips
the sieves of lonely sticks,
raindrops or wipes
of delirious tears:

the fluttering, the muttering --
voices out to be overwhelmed by the waves
of the curly laves,
shaves of our pains,
trims of our stretched suits,
our elastic fades flung.

first an instant, then
denial,
the overflowing
of the dense cluttering
all within
a vial.