critter-lung .
critter-lung .
bouncing in the trashday sun
fill me
with.     something

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