if the sky were torn
-which it is-
the stitch
inside your oblique
would take the glow of
sun beclouded
and
make it
its own

a cut carved into woundnomore

numb
is
not a thing

itself

it
waxes wanes waves
of photon streeeeaaam
crepuscular crawl of careened being
pilfering
life force
vamp ***** siphon of tor

it is yours
to have

all of

it

awaits your gait
sidelong face lips pursed poised
antidote to troll

you are light
on your
feet
because you are
i think
light of soul streaked

and

smeared across the Verse
you hold space
and black holes inside
one small dixie cone cup pinky out

you are
writer
written down

this glyph is