None-below or all-above:
the roots of fire
founder on a thicker star.
There’s no music for this,
a thief in weeping, a mold in the poles.
Is it an election or a siege?
Where freedom, read Jesus.
Day, multiply, in power!
Day they bear the image / to be a slave
To the other side
We are not this author
A pox on your hex! If murder’s
beauty’s guarantor. . .
Exegesis’s bulletholes in the cuneiform.
Have I been good? Has a bad gold been here?
If you can fetishize an ambulance,
if your limbs extend
deep into those darkest jellies. . .
Up ahead, the road’s closed.
They’re routing us through Waterloo.
Saturday, January 29, 2005