every tumble, bruise, broken leg or arm is the price for disrupting some hidden
order. instant punishment.
the year of eremite;
a tampered misanthrope
cuffed in contrite
withhold the purple
dribble of the prototype
how he wives me – a cudgel
there is karma; cut-lap
cavernous; stomping feet
over the black haw & zinc light
you will batten; a pattern
of impaired will
i, sixth sense stifling the landfill
monsieur misspells his departures
as “god-bye”
all is held
because of hurt
not despite
