The Opium Den

hammer my name
using your hands
fists in stone
palm to sky

i have grown dog arms
tell me. am i mad?

i go to the sea at negative tide
and sit, shape shifted against the granite
in the hot spring caves
and sit among the holiest of mens societies

they see only the stone
and do know where the rattle comes from
fourth round in their song

i disappear with the flood tide