
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