and as gorgeous as a throat

a weapon of aches, none of which completes it
even those that leave it, a weapon of ax

to put the forest at permission, i touch

the vision engine like a dutch

bitch process, i do at abandon

let the world stay new

streaming

into vapor on the legs

and rising up

tributary of a disarticulated

kind of beholding, a rage

of very glass, to hiss and thrash

about like love

or panic