clarity amongst the spackled shale—arrives
rattled, riven—as tenets forcibly flash before
simmering currents far from home—dreamt about, yet left alone—
where endless mirrors span amongst the golden bedrock—
that is, until, the eyes opened—once again carving reality—frozen in unkempt status and other sordid scatterings—a reminder, of the chaotic surplus owned by few; and those detrimental demons—the apparent contagions designated in the discarded view—of which, ironically, comprise the largest populous of the two.
the mirage, the oasis, seeping through pavement cracks—
crackling dismay through annexed thought—of soda-colored undertows and yet another night alone—beneath a shelter of stars; beside the lullabies of sounding vermin—scurrying competitively—for the tarnished or divine—for whatever’s left to find—for something, anything, helps prolong the fight
but only the forked pitch tongue survives—thus the adaptability of the protector’s disguise—the only thing—aside from thought and dream—making movement possible.
…and diadems are pronounced,
for the newest king of another