Shadow in the light

the fawning eyes to name

casting bones and scrubbing runes

not for shaman by the same

but for pretentious by its game.

Belief in self

twisted, twined, no longer paramount

a confession of the eyes

we named a pedestal of no account—

a devil’s playground at the fount.

Drifting through the gravel

the hero left to solace of the sand,

a world boxed in by seeds of its devotion

the drifting ides of foreign hand

hemmed us into falling land.


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