When our part of the earth is dark
a dwarf can't get his many bedsheets
square. His body greatly dislikes this.
His hand moves disgruntled like a miner
stumbling down into a bare-lit night.
The miner will not silly-sing and neither
can his canary, confused, a sooted flame.
Up above the world so high the sky
yellows with happy-maned happy-sun.
Until it snows. Herpetology is the study
of cold, which will eat the canary. It
snows ash, it snows night. All the birds
fall out the sky into the shaft down to
the miner squat beneath a tremulous light
reading Hegel. The hand finds the penis.
Again the dwarf turns with discomfort.
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