The Hammer Stone

by Charles Stein

The moon    lost      in day clouds
the noonday normalcy      its own peculiar obscurity.

Not so easy
to evaginate
emotion into form — or know
who rules
the breath twixt lung and larynx —
is it some mind ? some habit form, inveterate
hammer
whirling
furious
round the crazed mind heads of poets old ?

“Oh interlocutor, lifting the veils
of utterance
with timely query —
you too are but a form,
a thing remembered from some other night,
the primary point of emergence long abused . . .”

Thus I spoke
but a moment since
— myself that whirling hammer slashing round
forgetful, furious, happy, making form,
expressing and evading in one cut or hammer blow

Misery / Mystery,
Will and Stone.