& now I work loose the fetters’
clink, in mollusk-time of diminu-
tive observance, to distend into
latent-pools, & to know one’s
own well of distillation, or to sense
another’s crux, at having erred
in a vicious-circle… Slow dissemi-
nation through psychic drive, &
to lift oneself from the salt-fires,
the greenish flames that line the
cypress, in our memory of dark
pulsing. So
tenebrous lakes float
in the cache you’ve saved with
her patience, & blips dating from
before your orphic-mind, sem-
antic-drift, I see snake through
catacombs in elemental-engines.
So she had urged you to ener-
gize your life-journeys, her mere
presence enough to raise the
lax-phantoms that fed on nil &
shadow… Press
then the swo
llen cusp, the rake-soldier,
who folds his paper fringed in
lilac & ash, a bleed of wax
columns, O light & sound whist-
ling in the distances of time…
A brief expansiveness of halls
that sink, in the bogs of desti-
tution. Lift
from the waters
that drip from your feet, &
clasp the glass-fountain that
shifts from its stasis. I see
her now in commodious
caverns, & a quiet-buzz at
the jingling of her
words… 
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