erald! the fury!
a newness abounding
with horse heads & gallop
like bomb shocks.

lo! land ahead!
hills bristle dark
all our chandeliers shake
all our ghosts removed.

the sinking! a movement!
how brazen to find
the boulder brushed aside,
mountains keeping to themselves.

as dirty as it seems
or empty as the west
a solace found in falling
like waking up drenched.

alas! our king!
the clock at least maintains
faithfulness, the hoax
or so we thought at least.

pluralities as formality
it is just me here.
it has been that way
since the whole cave emptied.

O  Lethe! O Fenestra!
my gulping like drowning
but reversed, an absolute
need for pious haze or

a moment to still.
my hands are quarries.
the whole rock was hollow &
the bloodstains are fresh.