Sharp Cliques

some of my circles are sharp cliques.
angular ponds, bobbing for forbidden apples
‘neath a disco ball with asthmatic stars
in a vacuum of positive scars
as loquacious as a long pause
gilding the ludicrous
to kill Time with panache
and seal the sphere of our knives
in the womb of whetting stones
affable in amber
like Champagne fossils
out of tune...

in a flute