my origami,
a thin line of sunshine and a private war.
the nucleus of an extinct thought, gathering believers
on the outskirts of nearby.

the wrong thing...
a more dead husk than a fresh ****
or a new joke.

[ my long night. the covetous murk of a bright lie. ]

my only calling,
the mute jawbone of an expert hermit.
determined to offend ought
but the sermon

as the enclave denies. the right thing.
a more rapturous con
than a new deal
or old smoke.

a song's blight. luxurious cirque...

denial
and out
lights.