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.