Forbears of the Blind –

What is this that glues us to the Earth

round with imagining? Are we

to Understand

that piety is bountiful, heaved up

on the Shore

to bury Us with unfathomable Weight?

These ghosts beckon to us

with Supple limbs cultivating Want

as unkempt Necessity; what

of it? Can we

Sustain this Violent Tempo?

Is it a Surcharge

on our deceit, a kindling

of priorities?

How do the mute cousins of this idolatry

restore themselves

in the face of Closure?

Studied portraits of individual disdain

make a Mockery of Semblance – We

who must wait

allocate our resources to hoped-for

revivals of Purchase; it is

here we will Unwind

beneath the light

of careful interrogation – What

of the bearded One, red

with lineage? Will

he offer Us his hand or let

us drown, here, in our Combustion?

Sowing seeds of discontent

we burst forth

with reverend ironies our

heads in clouds our knees buckling

under such implosion – We bend

our backs

to the plow

and count Our blessings –

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