don't try
be the acorn in the molasses. be the demon in your thimble of hope. be That Guy.
save your trophies in your spit. keep breathing, but don't quibble with ice long trinkets and dead sky.
trip on your theme and plant facedown, the rally of your kingdom !
you
Will Be
at some
Time,
the Unspeakable Lisp of your Acute Prayer
at half speed, the true grit of your paralyzed steam... the frozen lightning
of your effortless... The True Would, if You Could.
but you can't seem to Jimmy the Lock
as much as be locked; you canter
in the stable Chaos.
You dust off the Rotten Preamble
too a previous
Horror.

you come
equiped to slip into the trojan noise,
you come as often as a candle
in the pitch dark

without a voice;

in shambles.