Upon that special mound there is a cleanliness, a purity sanctimonious, something so perfect it’s numerological—

Hell came through on battered wings, and thought to ask just one last thing. That If I could,

That one more, chasing the dragon, carrot dangling,

A whole lifetime can go by simple and average, without change, misunderstood, or understood all too well—

I remember being unmoved at more than one funeral at more than one memorial looking about impatiently impervious to the cries of the cry…

Hollow fang? Volcano. Cat’s purr? Hymnals. Intuition?

Praise those who sit and wait for nothing. Who sit still and know they are owed nothing. On the mat each inhalation

Good Monad, In all bad news I see how strong we are. This life confusing,

To be a ghost is to always be aghast— To not know which direction is the future or the past.

Is closed, always was, like Heaven, far too expensive and unrealistic,

I would lie with my hand on the B… I would lie with my hand on a stac… of Holy Qurans. I would look you dead-in-the-eye, and tell you a lie.

Tears tears do a walk-by unload the clip don’t know why now

Wanting anything— What a curse. I take the simplest of shelter, revisit proven feeding grounds, do what my organs demand.

Two onyxes atop another out where… the signal clear, it rang through… so loudly I frightened myself: RESPECT! I remember how often my Grandmoth…