two fists in the fire
water in the black
desert of my mind
elements conspire
against space and time

few words on a wire
plenty in the bank
of blank memory
taxed from a liar
printing currency

men lack—all buy their
way but can’t go back
words crossing the line
loom spinning entire
truths from threadbare lies

recovered minors
detail all of that
groping portion blind
fathers whose higher
powers fled them tried

in their wide empire
to conquest and sack
leaving each behind
ablaze—each mined for
words more than unkind

two fists in the fire
longer than a pact
bled out of my bind
we enfants perspire
terrible paradigms