Pulse

Daniel Ruefman

Living cocotte,

the rattle of maypoles and junipers;

vigorous pulse of the bawd at the door

shake the nerves of the sub-sentient; 

eclampsia,

delicate shrieks and deep burr 

of both Maryologists and pricks;

the house will be silent soon; 

consumed

for one evening,

reveling in what lies between 

maypoles and junipers, 

the existential screams of time—

the thin and evasive,

the thick and deliberate

spinning the windburn of lamentation

unto a silent mourning.