if 1495 is easy
if 2001 is the same
year, the names on the litter
change, is all, the naming
the seasons
brick up
a fear of loving
translated to history
where names are etched out
are sewn in the voice
the fabric, the logic
is wrong

                & chase the net of ghouls
                all money is

will brick up the gates
the dangerous rhythms
the ashes, the river
will fill all mouths
that talk wild talk
                & rain he said yes
                there is a
                spot of ink my
                face could
                scrub the
                shells to keep
                the voice in locked &




poor       locked
devils that we are