the two hands of me make inimical gestures
that only long after betray the one tune

though they have the same taste in throats
they go to their crime disgusted with kinship

the right has to act as if crazy for order
the left as a dawdler dangling by water

on sundays they plan suicides for each other
splitting time's atoms or drowning in feathers

between them i can't shape my own signposts
if i go out of doors i end up inside me

on mondays though jobs have to be done - throats
walk the pavements for hands to look out for

i use one palm with the other's fingers
that way i get the blood for both worlds