3 things pertaining to a man

-by B.V. Reilly



I am the darkest, the pinnacle, the failing, the marshes shrugged,

The recalibration of intakes, the bowels, the piston rod, the marked child,

The sadist, the alleviated, the hypocrite voices, the hashed out and torn,

I am the last of the minor, the washed, the programmed, the wired in,

The queerest, the obtuse, the inclined, the fluctuated, the south rim.

The disconcerted, the simulated, the internal, the beacons faded loose;



Our last great day, the empire has crumbled silently, no hell welcomes us

In the morning with rye toast and the early edition;



In time melts, Dali knew, a contemptuous candle,

A leap of intent, a fruitless limb,

We reap the sparkling vines of the blight

Kin to the sleeping matriarch, mother beast.

Wings folded under and in a ream of color.


Children will


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