A shadow in the courtyard.
Counting the pulse it calls for.
Plummeting consonants on each measure.
Particular, are her own fractures
To the pasture of the dark.
You would recall,
A desperate departure.
And settle with the queen.
A bedlam in the marsh, a bedlam in the hush.

Frothy white hymnals jammed in naked pupils
prowling in dusk and debris,
Howl through the decade shone in the east.

The distant loom shimmers across a nimble field,
Exciting the crown which lay heavy a second time.
You scramble in your sweat weeping through the seat.
A tiny fleet flutters only but an instance.
Forgotten what for? Forgotten why?

Today, much like yesterday, I smoked a cigarette..

Predictably, later on, approximately forty-five minutes later, I went outside for a cigarette.

Throughout this span of time, nothing meaningful happened necessarily.

Freedom.

Poetry
*****.