when a Kingdom

is being composed...

your entrails are

hung from a twig.

to the enjambments

of flies.

bade meat in shifting

spotlight.

the veal of a stage pounded.

all the villagers shouting a

unique city.

keeping frayed appointments--

they were always there once.

punctually.

zeroing in on their accusatory

fingers--one gouge shy of an eye.

unblinking talisman.

contraction does not reciprocate.

she's always at the window.

darkness doesn't know

it's color...as it enacts

the thickest plaster

with striving.

ungluing white hands

that spread under the

wings of birds.

pausing abruptly midair--

over their clearing, wings

never more wide open.

breast to breast.

too final with embrace,

not rise overhead.

who can ever

lay down what

bores a center,

a hole...slow enough.

during a weather gone

too fair.

all excursions aside...

nirvana loves to kiss.

the phalanx

of The 300

understand

a spearhead

as it rattles

between their

ears.

hitting their

ground.

permanently.

having drawn

range.