Kind of candlestick in the mud-
Hoary light in the swamp
Turning undone,
As the housewives moan like alley cats in their
Beds of predestination:
As they seem for awhile lost, pill bugs underneath
The covers,
As their pools glow altogether as if infected diamonds-
And their canals move slower
Filled to the brim with narcoleptic mermaids
And the fabershe cenotaphs of likeminded conquistadors:
See how the moon glowers over their
Strange visage swimming in the mud:
Each one with a candle undone just beneath the skim-
As the tadpoles dance
Innocent of what they will become,
And the minnows wander around aimlessly perhaps
Dreaming of the footballs games of your tomorrow.