where the self-contained creatures go to -
_
under the rug-shaped lash-lines blinking
dusty, with rashes made out of lifetimes in
fluctuation and
actuality.we sweep our history away in
little tidy circular brush
stokes
struck out against
the toothy
grin
of
these so-named

brain bombs obliviate_all signs of life in the city sqs.as all god-oid methods live on as a convenientandeffectivethreat levied bysquabbling heirs to her cold multitude of rancid throne-rooms/do you want to survive?
        the slow-panting dog shadow leans in closer, still,
/learn to dance the night.  … .. ….. … .. .. .. .

sleeping predictably, the city is at last disemboweled in favor of a new and ****-less being -
   all parking spaces, finally free.

the call to action :
like prehistory’s most compelling protagonists howling out from the austere tar pits in which they are mercifully entombed

/free my fossilized flesh!/
the carbonized ghosts clamor-
and we will .
we will choke out the whole of our stupefied brood with the breath of their ancient bowels respirating, anew
in ash and motion .
in the name of each family’s future

Power
is a trade.

yet
lambs and other extant specimens do not participate in  this same barter.

their deals are shorter and more sincere:
/ at least leave me the sky - /

/no./ the reanimated ancestral cloud billows,
/all is a dome, beyond which, none may gaze/

/ be still and pose gracefully within the god-dome of our love./

a shower, like a casting away of minuscule multitudes
singing along and misremembering the words
a dredge into origin
a deluge of removable things

a distorted reflection in the soap-****-nickel-alloy-plated places

a chance

sick to death
of our sick hearts having been sentenced to death .
no fresh breath /
no love for flesh //
no hope for our souls to be laid to rest. ///

they
fill the
grail full of *** for future generations to
take some
m   o r e.


at the intersection without  
intercedence
full of
hope for this
holy war.


slip to cope through this
revolving door



—