Silence is the underworld
rippling through a heart,
the jumpstart at day’s break—
a foghorn cacophony
an earthy drone.
Of Weights and Constrictions.
Anvils three-tiered
seducing fathoms:
sunken Hope plays Faith’s counter-weight—
an inveterate buoyancy existentially tolled.
The 51st star
amidst fiery plasma:
a happenstance afterthought
a glacial memorandum.
Where phantoms breed lust
through Gatsby dreams.
Capital Kings
domineering seas,
gilding coasts
In the shadow of
Primordial City.
Weaned on carcinogens
of immovable strata
nourished by dystopian seeds.
A harvested inheritance
despoiled by opulence.
Multiformity left to breed ravenously
on bedrock beds
bled of vitality.
A screw counter-sunk
to a corroded core,
magnetically coaxed
to return root-ward.
Paumanok
you sink towards reclamation,
ushered along by loadstone
indiscretions.
Starting out from you
Is a requisite door—
a beleaguered monument diminishing,
capsizing amidst its illustrious throes.
Sink we together
Tethered
Expiring towards a watery throne?
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