1.
When friends have gone to
Die, the pallid sun burns
Their teeth, and a hyena
Crowns the fist of maul.
Look back now, or not;
Does it matter that you
Were?
I have not evinced the dog
Of contention, the stone
That drags each mouthful of
Venison and artful melody
Toothed in arch sentiment
Of hard phalanges, trite
Sermons.
2.
astride with bare filaments of
a toothed
day, alit with the mother of
earth, a
slit tooth, a blip away from
tethering,
a ship away, aghast, aplombed
with fray.
3.
I held the possibilities of the ancient as sacrosanct, and they lied. I bent the rules of time that catch fire when upheld by law, yet they lied. I spent days and evenings and lanterns on unlit pathways that spoke of an ancient rhyme, yes they lied.