The Interjection of Spirit –

Storing strong bodies in the River we

denote any Sense that abides; here, in

our Shallow waters

we reach for oblivion untamed and far away, culled

from clippings and dirt; we

form unhealthy ideals and intemperate longings

before our glistening Charms; shelter

ourselves in mud with grass roofs encircling our bodies

dancing

in the River with astute Abandon

our hollow days

giving forth a full-blooded desire

for Our Structured

Impiety -- it is

here we come to believe

that all is Well in the world

as we cling

to our blistered Souls an

attic of Sins awaiting

Our true incision the

pure Children

guiding us past our futures

into our hideaway a glowing warmth

encroaching

on Sterile ground to unleash

a quick fruition of Stasis

and delight -- these are the Ironbound hours

that recede before us even

as we Approach; the

arrowheads and Artifacts of a dying Race

yearning

for Recognition; We

stand Alone

but not Forgotten -- We

are the imps of interred distraction

who yield reliquaries and statutes -- We

can blister

past the Seas

to faraway Shores

keeping true to our Intention

and veering from

the Mark when Called-upon to Sing -- We

are your Forbears, your

ancestral Sage as to what is Wise

and what is Merely Speculation -- can You

hear us here in this dim Light?

Too often in the tethered Night there is Obscurity, the

solemn uptake of some Stringent Force -- We

will survive Blows here

to attain

a heaving Justice born of Companions and Despair -- We

will swiftly breathe in the Salt air to

arrive at

Morning's Solitude unwearied, Certain, Sure --

*