the small kali

the small kali whispers a little death
  the orange skin in the morning sows heat the memory of heat & dissolves

this month is not possible as it tires of the motherly yeast, fatherly axe, crumbs of fallen laugh   this month is the apogee of a resisting moondance   it is weary of the sunstory as fillin for snakehead & wolfshine

the small kali can hear the mancloud tremble
  the bronze tint in the morning sows hunger the reason for hunger & dissolves