05 August 2018
There are not enough downy blankets for this shattered scattered land.
What would be if our hands were strong but softly laid?
We could calm. We could calm slow waves.
A map. A map and empty rings. Fingerless hollow eternities
Drag up all the wire of grids and vertices.
Click click the collard cable's coil. The spool will snap unsewn.
What graft and crooked drafts have been obscured?
What little universes, glorious cosmos of life, have been deferred?
Our children? Children all caulked and cracked, stunted. Inured.
There's not enough whiskey in this world to cover bloody topography.
And what if we made a promise of fidelity? And we held to truth in troth?
What shine! Oh hear us:
Cynic slosh. Halogen twinkle. Nylon dross. Patent leather plastic gloss
There's not enough sleep for knife-light dreams
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