am i humbled
as i cup hands to the drip
machine
of _wantinglessness
am i listening to the horsehair-plaster hard enough
to remember
her hematite cough
[ of love ]
strewing gun.mites across the room
like seeding the sky with flower-futures
concatenations of ****** dread
casket basket
rumor of
the next thing.
scab fingers
ring diggers
shun mirror
you skim new menisci
off of
the
locals’ strange traditions
like parsing down handmedowns
into piles of
keep. and. get the **** away
from me.
like the stories cryptids tell
their children about us
( so that they don’t stray too far out of the
forest )
unapproving dissimulatiors
yawp
and
concentrate
on etching
pathways for the unendeared
amidst the
moon.trodden regicides
of that which is loosed unto the
aether
footholds, findless.
in pursuit of esper footfalls within the ambulatory shroud of
that which becomes
instant .
a
wisp of the homepointed . a
flick of the
wrist-grab, willfully
a
fissure
in
fissured things.
the scramble-dark iris
the way
that hipbones throw : music
as wielded by sorceress,
wild in trembling macrodactyl
prestidigitations
.
the grandmother of conifers keeps vigil ,
as always