the seeming drained from things

a hollow echo back from the central sun

ecstatic denial of movement

*

the sky lapping at reduced straits

and a fine disregard revolves around

a milling of insects

*

the moon is the bats sun

and outside the system of the system desire

still foments and calls to passing harlequinos

shades announcing the fifth season

*

Sun Heads

Toward lapping cave

Where people talk of fame

there is a gaunt cross on a hill

smiley skull in a whispered lie

all tales have to be told and disbelieved

*