Bald naked umbrage teeming, garbage fueled, jargon-strewn
half life, led in stages of decay and marked from birth,
lined into corners by sidelong glances and fancy passes
disguised as droplets of glory, emerge to a timeless dawn
of forsaken moments, backward thinking, vine-swinging
retribution, penned by non-existent demons made starlike
by this chorus of wails.
Filch this never-ending youth, planet of hipsters in a cloud.
The cry abounds. Grandfather dirt, mother of oceans,
beguile us with mundane unearthly wisdom, the truths
of startling winter even heaven cannot know. Take hold
the light’s dominion like some stellar dance path’s magic.
Eviscerate the crown volcanic, tragedy’s room mate,
yesterday’s bill of lading for the host of fine rememberings.
Nothing is sacred that cannot fly.
To the end we twirl, shameless in this pivot of doom.