In the land of the dead, contentment     is another’s mourning

      The bursting dawns     of gazelle, zebra, wildebeest

are born ready to run   readier to die wading

      through the prongs     of the savannah’s flammable

crown. Lying in my dirt bed        I brand the herds

      Myopia, Denial, Uncertainty           Destiny

and knight them by whatever names       they desire.

     I don’t care where a word comes from,

only what it will do           to me, so I capitalize

      my black-maned haunt       Prince, Necropolitics,

Economy of Misfortune. Under this syntax

      of sunlight, I surveil   for epiphany, shadow

like a frustrated door   of clouds.

      Dear Honeyblooded,   won’t you tune for me

an ambered fate, a dance atop beauty

      until your soles split like embers?

Despair for me       a song, so I can pluck

      the streaming fiddle       of your long Godwatered throat?

Dear vacillating meadows of opportunity,     equip my silence

      Chittering wild-dog heart,         pay your dues, pay

attention     Thieving hyena mouth     supply now to demand

      tomorrow, or else humiliate     the walk home

Tomorrow     will arrest us anyway   back to the earth

      and disinherit our most vain tools. So take

and outlast necessity  Today is a digression

      a feast, a war chariot           on fire

The sky burns     like an arrow      but my eyes are gilt dare

      My body is the decree     the synapse       the endless gale;

the terrible stride   of a blade that knows exactly     what is coming