Sky Father

The sons—to be anesthetizing son,
mediated of,
benumbed, blessing born
of fractional brilliance,
innervation as
black tongue effacing coal.

The goatees marked,
shift, pivot and swivel,
reds, a pair
of shadowy, tight visages.

Revealed, reevaluated,
through normal conversing course,
docked inwards, and comprehended.

A hundred lies, a novel word,
tinsel confounds crevicing
jaw mouthing
bones (like the plying
of Vilnius’s songbook).

Warring, beloved, striating
afield from sparse poetics,
expounding on
a feeling; a secret widow, tapped,
the closed,
monotheistic looks.