an excerpt from CALLS, a long poem in progress

Byzantium rises again,
post-Abrahamic,
luminous and blue.
Am I the last pagan or
the first?
Open the Questionary
and slip in,
they’re all there
waiting for you
and you are their only
answer
Charlie Chaplin eats
his shoes
St. Apollo hides the
moon
if you listened more
I’d talk less
isn’t that what
witchcraft is,
your skin slick with
Oil of Listening