in the hour of our frozen gleam
the minute of our fire.
in the year of our immortal toil
the day of our desire.
in the crease of our unyielding
lies surrender to the void.
to the matador, the bull
and from the horn, aplenty -
nothing good.

II

a masterpiece of blink, the love
that seldom loves the monument -
that stands before the world, a surge
of effortless bewonderment.
a shattering renewal
of a timeless thing to ponder with.
that carries every angel
far above the dread of human steps.
a sovereign note to fugue
is Love that covets
what it's never met
and nothing can consume it all
too ill equipped to join
with it.

III

summer past your face
is how the spring resolves
how winter sleeps.
the dead are long, but life
evolves to swell upon the earth's
descent... to buttress the oblivion
that howls amid the heaviness.
the weight of our conniption
fits the coma, mostly
now and then.

IV

pearls are made of glass men
that shill.

and the willing dark
contains it all.

and It

the dream
we fathom with.

and All

the pearl
we can't
recall.