High ranking birds these bright flames
roll down my sleeve, mix wine with
water, blend to resemble, thirst naked
month, day, sweet agreeable year.
One who is himself greedy braids torturously,
him, her, himself, herself,
bride, young wife, maiden, mind;
years handing off the prepared
as zealous, in the hold of a ship
to pronounce sun in mid-air, to buy
a fortnight ago put to sleep.
I tunic of the short frock fall down in
place, teleology of perfect wood,
form and shape of a cruel monarchy,
merely deposited to establish technique.
To build a case, moisten the signs
sacrificing cuts, atoms of vehement
carpenters, funeral rites suffering
anything, a unit of weight.
Balance is a tower, mask
of before. How much? How many?
Phorminx, a kind of harp or lyre.
Midriff, in the heart, one whose
blue substance breaks in pieces.
The earth our ground to alter, roll
along, coy and lame, proclaim grief,
see a high sea, open sea. Every
exceedingly allotted expectation,
every short mantle screams,
cries old house. A child pauses
to be called to hear, to split the difference.