Reach the ground
upon which we stand
runs out its own colour
careered bittered skies
vertiginous without repose
drops inside nobody
the dol below algos
to mercenaries
closed annunciations
dolorimeter & algometer
dolor as sorrow; algos as pain
ash in light trident in Bangor
then you walk back to the city
in their windows
possibilities turn out to be snares
& ambushes but one dies
in the world & into the world
are fewer Matt Bisaro’s
