Flannel Cave

I am a bear, yes, I know this
feeling cold and out of place, a shivering
statue of contemplation, fitting the good fit
to the contemporenteity of thermalmechanical noise
mine of which is pretty low, so low
that the ball can pass under the couch and
there must I crouch down low
and suffer the gains of dust and crust and mold that
infringes the edges of airloose windows

the forcast is a big frost
a permanent frost from here to April
from nocturnal visions of a damned bat,
like they I confide in a cave of hibernation
a mental disaster and public housing crisis
the tax rates went up last week,
and collusion is the new corruption (so they say)
a gazebo or two or some underwater parking
for a white whale to ponder the harbor,
a hungry hungry tip-off to the sector of
information a coalllition of the willing
a friday night blacker than thursday, in the papers
read all about it.