A quilt of ad hominems keeping orphans warm.

Defending the static quotient by which the infinite

shrinks, to fit a premise the power finds palatable.

A swamp of normalcy, belching undigested bits of

the enigma, into a miasma leading one by one to

believe. In a gel of the disparate on old time knees

bent to keep from breaking for the door.

Bequeathing a passage through the glaze of

particulars. Slippery in sliding the wont beneath

the guise of rounded days. A desultory elegance

presumed an antidote to the clamor as the hour

runs out of options past tock. Deadened nerves

taking the temperature at its word. By virtue of

corollaries, mimicking the topography of inner

landscapes, sculpted by emotive elements

periodically sweeping the table, to sabotage a self

on loan from the way it’s supposed to be. In

keeping the portals clear for the to and fro of the

unseen but felt, in the myriad tangents of fear

catching up to the word in a  cloud of omens. As

it needs to be in order. Only the context turning.

To ferret out what’s lurking between the greenery

and the grass. Sponsoring a face for the occasion

thought unreachable, by hands or feet, the

writhing in the tumult, tending the blink of

the steed embodying the metaphor for the

grid giving the void that special place to

come home to.