no incursion to outer, only ambush. sun-blind as any

newly hatched platonist / these moments

of selfrecovery, made elegiac

by sheer monumentalism: a single coal-fired

eye / rancorous / pitched at

cinephile dopplereffect. it recedes into the mirror

the way an abused landscape

staggers on for luckless miles, heat searing off it

into quicksilver sheen.

here a burning eucalypt is a false flag

to consternations forged at

myth’s antipodes / no god had ever

spoken their language: an avarice for meaning among

many supplementary footnotes &

inquisitions. each reckons its own contingency

playing both sides / the way

a flagellant’s at home anywhere,

knowing how to ramify & make mobile their suffering.