’tis

I was a child
of children,
’tis infallible,
’tis
fate.

I am raised now
of my own,
’tis salivating,
’tis
a state.

I was a boy-child
begat mute,
’tis aphyxiating,
’tis
truth.

I am a husband
to punctuation,
’tis a-being,
’tis
couth.

I was merely
but a cherub,
’tis evidence,
’tis
law.

I am here now
of a muse,
’tis correcting,
’tis
thaw.

I was of memory,
of seclusion,
’tis quiet,
’tis
serene.

I am raised now
of my own,
’tis hilly,
’tis
green.

Manichean

2
all
yokels
This is a love letter

2
all
yokels
This is a love letter

2
all
yokels
This is a love letter

2
all
yokels
This is a love letter

Division St. Row(Fish)

Guppying, grappling,
in behesting a glass-

parallel planular fleeted
with a white-blue, down-

slope recoiled on
that ’45,

roiling sink edged
over-above mind’s

illustrated skate black
(nullity under flesh-flap),

filigreeing-on an empty oracular
lime-limbed socket stop.