Spleen (1994)

The bit of ash that he had swallowed
slid past his heart and, still warm,
was deposited in his stomach

A sneer came to his eyes
A frown came to his lips
The smile disappeared from his ears
And his nose felt only rotting dogshit leaves

It was that time of year
Not fall, not winter
It was a vacillation and he hated vacillations
of any kind

The ash did not warm his stomach
No, it merely was absorbed, like
a bug in a pot of melting cheese
It filled him with a bile
Not melancholic, not acerbic
It was a vacillation and he hated vacillations
of any kind

Ash
Not fire
Not wood
It is a vacillation and