I Don’t Call It Anything

Beyond this melting
point an allusive

pall of evasive

the propelling
tyrannical rhythms

betwixt foreboding
and botanical schisms,

accumulating to what?

An era-inspecific
terminus engorged

on those enfeebled;

A hummed about
science or license

for this

used demotic opacity’s
standard predation?

Volume (Familiar)

Messages from gen-
ocide fastened hands

a time turning a way
no, never to forgive

plan, plan to say

nights, nights over

stolen, no located.

Fidel Castro and His Beard

The incessant demand
of perfection returned
unrested and loosed
moving to one idea
of sentient sects
inane such workings
of benevolent bent-spine
books devoured also
as into ubiquitous
penetrating evil looks
so scoured it stood
creation alone the provisioner
of steady or some lasting
reproofs and untimely reprieve
a description put forth
maybe placed forth
as discrete as function
of no singular hope the
generation for a universally