captain kirk ate kittens. the azaleas
marched in the dark
and no moon wept snow.
it was that
dark.

all quiet rot, healing now...
we clay inside but dis-urn
we have no kiln. no kin.
we move
like a dreaming fetus
in the womb of all prisms.
like lightning on
a pin.

we have ever been  
the king's
vassal.

star chattel in the manger .

happy mad
hatters.