10.07.25
A white spectral army in disguise
an emblem for security
twisted slight all but death, for death
pumped up from the earth
a successful Master Diplomat
this incantation is mine
instead its versions a Rigby ring
are shaved hearts of
remote conquest the squinted gables
the underelected marches remembering
the kindred faces
it's just my point of view see
generationally slued
consternation siphoned backblood
inside the vastness of this night
& its fragile ghosts again Oswaald
put these in your mouth
dressed as Batman, Robin, or
Superman
hanging from roofs
so feelings stray our lasting
breath & inebriations
twisted all but death, for death
the sorb in me is honey-coloured
horse-hair wig & I decide the plumage
the prophetic birds
the snowflakes so many things
falling under my Waning Sun
your granddad
at the border freezing cold
he speaks in whispered mumbles
walks the whole white cliff alone
touches his chest & says:
I am the perfect image
of mankind
Made by God
to remind
him of his son
My back is straight
like a straight
white line’
