~for the co conspirators, they know who they are, them foreign poets~
write in solitudes, provocations arriving from within and without, the hot magma melting internally, the sting of red scars from arriving cold asteroid hits
all I’ve got to do is faithfully transcribe the knife fights, the not OK corral fights, the trailing comets passing-laughing their tales off at the black hole idiot who said writing poetry is easy peasy
of course making it easy, no issue no problem, just by picking up those peasy pieces of leftover me