Janus Lament

April is NOT the cruelest month
regardless the severe caesarian Pound
perfomed upon Eliot's stillborn child.

No, Janus shivers in this my darkest year
and the Anniversary of the betrayal is marked
in calender bloodspatter, heaviest on this very day,
three hundred and sixty five days to the minute.

Unforgiven laveder fingers that scraped in yellowish cinderblock undergrounds flooded with shallow watered realization that i know not your mask,

And, you are wearing it still, tracking painted toes in your inch-deep truthles backwash, and your mask is now cocked and off center, as if your very eyes blind themseles with those ragged tailfeathers now colorless and grotesque.

Sing goodbye Janus'Lamet-my ocean is bottomless again, and

Just as the Wasteland yellow deathclouds gave way to Jazz and Harlem and Langston Huughes-

I again hear the sirens whipser, high above the deep blue watery caves-beautiful with their mysterious mandolins