HOST

HOST

we are none,

pigheaded,

provincial,

take what we

think,

:;:

a world to a-

void any that

is a

not us.

AWE TOME KNELL

AWE TOME KNELL

depart your brass
warm air, your
paper shredded skin,

all now is
leaving, leaving us
to chase behind,

ushered along by
some well deserved
chill.

BEHOLDEN

BEHOLDEN

your self

narration chains

us to drowned

hours, some

sun sets

:;:

but it was

never ours.

BLÓÐ

BLÓÐ

drink yr

god damned

fill.

stretch yr desicated

finger towards

each one you

wish cursed.

carve the lead,

bury the tablet

beside the heart-shaped

mound or yr septic tank.

you are a true

one of us.

“MOORED AGAINST ITS TERMINAL PIER AND COVERED WITH GNOMIC AND MEANINGLESS GRAFFITI”

“MOORED AGAINST ITS TERMINAL PIER AND COVERED WITH GNOMIC AND MEANINGLESS GRAFFITI”

sunthrummed into

a later age,

unblinking, the

world sails

from itself,

unended but

returning, bringing

us to that

blistering beginning.