in the nooks of harm

Once again, a dissenting woe
   gives lie to night’s
   beckon

Once again, you are tried,
   tired; as the gong
   blisters,

As the mention of sweet
   morn glistens the
   glands,

Time weeps a river.

When does the sentence fall off the page
& a new oblivion step up picking up this

Wire of dawn? Where do the stains of ink
Perspire if not in the nooks of harm and

The shade of a lower noon? Lower than an
Inch? Wiser than the tooth that carves I

The forbidden spark of a thousand
boasts

What?   we care the plenitude into
a stare

We blink coalesce morph stipulate
tinyness

Into being    the spark has been
used/ful