I
There was the stark Unwel­come
In the blan­kets of that time / there was night

Who refuses as only the seg­re­gated can—
To swad­dle our sick with (an unlim­ited supply)

Fire­flies smashed together / against the skin
Tight atmos­phere, sweat­ing (like the restless)

Bul­lets glis­tened, and con­torted, and
Did not die. Stoic toward a des­per­ate query

How much do you love me—drove across the old
Wide-open again, where the road twists ‘round

I
As a mouth—revealing the rup­tured tone
Of a col­lec­tive body. Had the sun shone through

(Our ruined) thatched roof, the insec­tual drama,
Like a blood-ring—had the brood­ing dropped off

Before our camp came to: starved, con­gru­ently
For dawn and dark (A clo­sure.) I’d stop

Beg­ging, recon­vene / believ­ing: exhaus­tion is an act
Of devo­tion (much like reach­ing—) into fog

After hell-hot fog / for the Pearl in Ques­tion.
If I look for you. If I look for you

I
Like a man whose head is on fire looks, for water…
Peri­win­kle cool coun­try air. Noth­ing keeps

The beads on my brow from turn­ing, like slaves
To their mas­ter / the tinc­ture of the realized:

Aqua-marine, or that which we steal from the sky.
I arrive—where the world is a shell (click) safety is

Haz­ardous, and you—you were arranged to do this:
Keep calm within the cold blue daz­zle of a caste

Sys­tem (chant­ing: should we ever cease to spin…)