One was weightless, wasting time on set.
Two was chimers, champing at the bed—
And three, all three, laid hands on me
for theirs were turning red.
I can’t for fight it—
rhyme-based sigilance that beams the base to Mars.
Just try to capture fractured upspeak strains in jars.
I too.
The will wants you:
this presence over bards,

their high-***** armaments stack bombs,
out-chamber trespass calm.
Wild regions, inner-sanctum being,
ship-wrecked, godless, toe-by-sack,
reel catchless rigs on fish-day markets—
error blamed on ***. I bet
******* is off-limits
(0 for contemplating clues!)
Toes clench erratic in their shoes
and press on over trenchant want.

You see us floating down the Frontenac,
the after-fades all black.
Stone pixel bliss on ‘tainment tracks
and fortune—not aesthetic—
keeps a wave and jeers us from the sea.
Fall flat and let us be,
us, living evidence of free.
Your time, its trepidations:
arrows sailing ever lee-
ward to your sail.
Now come and post the cosmic bail.