Saturday, March 31, 2018


I ache for just a flake of your concern,
Uncertain of unstoppable events
That crowd the calendar. If time relents,
Even for one short moment, and we turn
To find a fox concealed, fire in the fern,
The queen and her pool boy under the tents,
And consternation on the continents
Nearest the sun, what burnished swords will burn?

You say the swords will melt? No, heightened heat
Will chase the chased steel for eternity
Into oblivion, obligingly,
From this our moral universe of meat
Into a dream of nothing, drive a street
To nowhere. Know my new identity.


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