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