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