( via / via )

"The women of America don't have time for this."

"Alas, poor country,
Almost afraid to know itself. It cannot
Be called our mother, but our grave, where nothing
But who knows nothing is once seen to smile;
Where sighs and groans and shrieks that rent the air
Are made, not marked; where violent sorrow seems
A modern ecstasy. The dead man’s knell
Is there scarce asked for who, and good men’s lives
Expire before the flowers in their caps,
Dying or ere they sicken." ["o'er" maybe?]

--Macbeth IV.3

Overlay of overlays.

This space is but a tempest fraught
with peace-shards; scarce the cusps of make
things happen. Though you muster them like hawk
seldom the spiral down for freight,
& what we get instead spoils rage with fright.

Ah, the winding down
t'ward some chaotic reckoning:
squid-scrimmage, clash of clowning
with bystanders likely getting broken.
I want to hide beyond the sweep of Occam.
I want a boring voting-day.
I want the right pretender howling dragged away.

Beech Forest.