honey-gain
hive-loss

rumbles in the
basement .

meadow mouth

lets the drips roll off
from
       desperation-clenched
       thighs         to
fall
upon each green blade born of these buried bits
of somethinghood


as a fatigue settles across
a languid sort of reward,


damp inside the lawful box

sweeping up my steps like
uncluttering any remnants
of a prisoner’s
prayer

at the adaptive obligation,wild after more

master of virtues no longer called for.
master of virtues not yet called for.

a hero with 1,000 faces
fights a faceless monster
in a field of ruin    and
  beyond observation

caught like a row of
selenium pillars holding up a
prism
earth

encrusted in
skittering moments w/o time

heaving a blade
into
salt-silt flickering slit

([]}        (  •. )         _

Another
Hangs like the
Increasingly average protests of
Virtue in man’s sick pantheon

Just east of
Dawn’s gurgling last breath,
Choking in
The steaming *** load of
God_

Staining white,  these
Vast
Echo chambers of the cyber cathedral


No greater
Panopticon.

they came dressed as the moon, sang about death and warned against time .
they came dressed as the sun, sang about death and warned against misbehavior .

on my t-shirt , cropped in
set against a text explanation
lit by the sun
and
singing through the air like electric
                arrows

forgotten words for it.
small ornament beside the face

in need of fly paper
upon her return

the scan lines are layers of sediment
piled up
  in thin slices of observation
  over
  us