The Sweet Liquors She Finally Sells

Oh god it hurts to fill these pains
With solutions that are not real.
Like knuckles playing red down the washboards
Of this brain;
And the rivers are all straight down,
Really classical in their architecture, beautifully harsh,
And all the time Sharon is suckling her niece or some-
Other foundling:
She doesn’t care- Her eyes, her eyes what are they doing
But changing shapes and constellations.
Doesn’t she know that there is absolutely no way for
Us to reach what she is doing-
She is everything in the light of one single day,
The toads are all out singing in the carport amidst the many
Types of mints and herbs, but I cannot sing each one to her:
Sharon,
Sharon, she has a godly husband, but she doesn’t care how
She’s hurt us, how she’s fixed us in the rock-garden,
A new cenotaph who still keeps his fir, his jaw set and raw;
And there are zoetropes in the desert who bud,
Leaping- Leaping for Sharon is what they seem to be doing,
Far down beneath the end of her splendiferous draw;
And it seems that this is what she’s always been doing,
Painting the horses as they move beneath her heavenly
Seesaws;
As we swing back and forth affixed to her jigsaws,
The puzzles only the sweet liquors she finally sells can so
Easily solve.