"Then you will begin
to burn the deserts.“ –Bill Knott
tor of dearths
at the one war no one wants to enlist
word salad parses
the Praha clock delights a sober deist
car delivery caters
all our fierce inlets
the hardest
is adding idleness to our fun diets
frayed records in dust-caked crates
outside the walkers pass & repass
we drive without spares
to go back sev'ral edits
another mass shooting & how one reacts
depends upon the choice of hatreds
none listen
dug in but badly sited
you try to leave minimal traces
oracles silent
& i realize my final record is sparse
these frayed threads
say the biopic should be recast
feathered spears
on the wall hung · i let that contact be trashed
& cherished tinsel
at my feet ravenous tides
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