Music is telling us something
We share a weakness
a light wound in the shoulders

To call myself dark man
I think it brings something on me
the omen
infiltrate your heart

The homes came up from the shocks
like you had slid a mask over 
smelted a lodestone

There must be some place
significant pond, an abyss

It’s kind of like hearsay

And later on in a pit of gas
the names became words

Take a message from my eyes
we moved over the water 

Looking into the forest for the oracle
The forest opens up 
faceted diamonds

The dace are in the river
longer, as if our hands were oarsmen’s

The cape, come back against the valley, is haunting to be absorbed, 
to announce itself by a sound. The entrance itself,

I have cloaked my fist to incite the gift, to mime
grace. Morning, to sculpt; evening, the sofa

against the valley. The smartest collisions,
the hiring of carriages. To assist in alighting

from the carriage. Noiseless, completely silent,
to recover one's self in the carriage.

The statue spared, the statue rediscovered.

Everything up 
in the victory
as an age of Fall

Two positions 
of the eye
To desong it

One of the four
seasons the Romans
clashed into the chart
of seeing days

Circling with time
Second-tears drawn
around approximate
cites, an elixir

Helm of life
Crime, final crying

Heal me, let's 
begin with a shattered 
cup, rippling

Fist crushing you
down into hotness