Are you a place, thing or animal?
Are you ready to dwell?
Have you been displaced, deformed?
Are you a proud civilian?
Is there anything I really can
Discuss with you? What age
Do you think you are? Where
Are you, when you are here, & what
Remains, when you are gone?
Where have you gone recently, & are
From bystanders & national
Security personnel? Are you one of the
Personnel, or are you aspiring to
Be? Or what is it
That you aspire to, anyway?
Are you a colleague or a desperado?
Have you had enough of being
Left here, without anything else going on?
To be written in the aftermath of sky,
In carnivals & cargoes where noon waits
To be written in the slip the
Arch where we dive down
Dive down written wrought & hung
Wrung from omnivorous tuning
Like the sun
The sky a flake of clanguor
Above cities of wound metal
The sun is a drop of blond screaming
Written on the edges ’til we fall