Can you see Hyperborea's sun, shadowless
valleys where you cut word with tooth?
An unfettered wound stutters, blowing null what
timeless utterance it will.
Where does tomorrow sleep, your prospect in
stomach, cramped with fluxing zeros and ones?
As soon as you spoke your abstraction was pardoned.
Your home's abutted geography made its revolving
bally.
Dizzy you, concentric circles closing in, advising their
babe press forth.
Mythopoetically proud as hell of your circuit, a
metaphysical luminary midwifed in an etheric
manger.
Shadows mark their growth about our encampment--
G*d's peripheral nomads etching story.
Shelter bids welcome, unwelcome everywhere...its
doors blow about as the literature of distances.