ReRites ( two honey-bees) [July 2017]

Time That Never In Times Before Hurt my starving downdraft smug joy! Hunt the clock. Hunt the hands. Today, the liquor whores truth. ~ + ~ And Dust, though not honest, turned in its Styx, Sangre prefigurations proxies, on the cliff of nothing. ~ + ~ Eclafes, Avenged The amanuenses dogs came to shadow: new poems turned off their resemblance to steep winds. The streets are singing and growing blind in a landscape of ritualised exhausted conjecture. ~ + ~ Waves: Dark Some god; livid sampled flinging desolation ~ + ~ Dear Companion I hate you: little life. Here where nothing else is born. Spangled with cortex And shrug Friendship’s spiraling Underfoot and Misplaced Maiming Profound great books divined their ocean-fords, or oarless leaf, trees. Not enough. Committees Sex: cavity, cabinet, the root, a leaf. The Architecture of Garlic Warring among the wounded waking, projected over spirit-infested ermine, as sudden as the consumption of lightning and paradise. ~ + ~ Do you arrive alone? They know your true name, unlearned, conquering worlds, imagining castrated god, and a hook of fire on which perch two honey-bees.