stricture –

veins of liquid ore carousing in our blood

these the Celibate beasts of

our unglued imagination turning tricks

for the misinformed

and half-submerged; Who

would stand at the door

and whistle, sibilant utterances

masquerading as fear

unfettered and alone? We

are dark Knights of an imperious round Table

settling for hope

above Glory – we are Naked in the brush, our

hands and faces

scratched in our arriving here

at the gates

of our Seclusion --