A cold caress feels skin intact:
protection altaring misgivings–
messages flown down on rails.
Cool heads prevail, endure this visit,
egged to double-burn the wax,
dishonored: chided for syntax.
They shift their tremors out of park,
engaging flywheels, sign on lines–
error that binds the river gray
to bones in titles, floating loans
to scant subscribers who to signal sync:
clique here and link to strength
in number. Textbooks waver not–
no units cover aberrations.
Shred such practice with a blade.
Hold in abeyance hit parades–
insist the linguist's hand decline
our ending: dative frosts
that stagger out from what is lost.

And through this pity plays the Modest
Grim Quartet to crowds that haven't
listened yet–presumed to rise up
faithful by the sword, but buried
under long receipts and bills
for dull retreats, hearts centered in
the sou·r stacking wrong. We wrench
a living from what's left of laters
severed, but so long.