i am unknown.
however i bake
my cake
the quintessence of a fool
is His oven,
or Her
mcguffin...

so
let the heat
play Winter's Thoughts
and arrive
unspooled
before the likes
of me
and my complete
collapse.

I am redacted
from the narrative,
much like -
your reason to breathe -
lurks behind a
myst.

or a fog is a glimpse.

You

you
un-suture
the parabola
from the arch of
all Monte Cristo !
you shank the villain
as villainy is your twin.,,
we cohabit  
the one
and split the difference
the same.

from some " within ".


II

much
like thin filaments of music returning to a stream
to bow their heads in the Eucharist of a slit wrist  -
we are confluent in the chambers of our undertow
and serve such masters, a world can endure
but hardly love the triumph of the cube
over paisley cubes,

III


i almost say something all the time.

IV

all the Time,