I found an octopus in the snow



And not knowing what it was or why it was there, I gutted it

as if a hunter





To me, up to my elbows in bladder, the ink was a surprise



I wore it like opera gloves in the moonlight





So many mistook my passion for gangrene 



One followed me into an orchestra pit. If I could only say now

what my arms said





I took up a bassoon & aimed it at a chandelier



As the house lights came down, the audience lost their places





They were swimming in a maelstrom of inklings