From there it cannot be
heard: the moon


abattoir of lyric and kingdoms
and lonely hollowed peel

invokes the new muse. Without debt,
without silly epic rules,


I cannot be the one to find
light bladestrung on damp wrecks

Before I see the branch I see
the runway.

X, you too will find a way
of cracking.

You too will sense the stifling
mess and pass on out on over

wrap of really real skies, unconditional facts,
pieces of the plunder.

The worn page turns for nothing
hungry

nor brave
lashed nor specific. These chips

come quick
with unrest. I say

if you say it is time
to crack and flee

then leave the brood in trial.
Feel eggs

as days spent swell in dumbdrag,
as lines opening false,

False I said can you not
hear from there.