and of how many howling a times
have i watched the closed lid
patches of bonsai tiger tattoo
in stitches and in wrinkles
the rekindled routes of rivers
and veins... that might take to
the route of heart and molten iron
as sourced...
thus my fright,
that aged begotten by only pride,
and cat in pillow safeguarded
by the stuffing of lullabied sheep
of forked duck feathers
into a volume of bypassed flight,
that huffed and puffed a wheezing of sleep,
sepia too arable, kept the pedigree
of unexplored surrender kept for some concern
for signature; and thereby i too served the tongue,
as a plated palette of  forehead
that once scorned acne worthy of constellation
but later make stars an inconvenience
should obstructions be limbed and active
to raise hand and simply orientate with a wave:
so to the incomprehensibility of what defined
poetics rather than simply selling a car,
of what defined poetry and came to be merchant's assertion:
the economy of language never provided its beauty:
and the second economy never lifted a stone
to say it was mountaineering for a zenith of the ever resting
as challenged to be above: for each child nonetheless
in rubric a confirmed multiplier
but hardly a welcome addition that posthumous fame desires.