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
wanton
realm
