We haven’t for us given up the air of least resistance but for them?
We have repeated only current features: Spooling air foils smearing
tunnels give way to red cadmium sands, return the mere possible
or the unanswerable desire to fire them all for Christmas
in crook’d pagan spirit climes, alive to all dissolved joy or pent sado-gradualism
in dressing gowns gelled in, teeth & hair perfected fired shell designs
or: Any measure of suspect walks backward through forecast times
into porch light in a borrowed duct tape-patched poncho and sorrow
bare bulb, sorrow core plan, sorrow sweet sparrow, our tongued ear throat airs!
