distillation –

crestfallen and broken, divided

in parts, chloroform and ether, the

mind made up

to disclose its inscape in fits

and starts -- brass tacks

and iron bars, prisons

underground and Sheltered -- all

the Weapons stowed

away for Next year's War -- it

is in our Hardened condition

that we Resign

ourselves to Reason and hold

back our Tears; what

heraldic duty

can fasten Us to Push past

breakers

aligning ourselves with the Tide

as Salt-starved virgins

ripe with Nectar? -- We

are the quiet Soldiers biding Our time

here in the Mist -- We

will find Occasion to unleash our Fury

out and from

the breast, bursting

with Opinion matured and arid

under

Night's Embrace --