a curfew called a cataract

it's blue. you do not dream
what angles reify, they ply
from carte blanche an identity,
as one dismembers viaducts
from flow through. art equals
shield. delinquency from
re(s)po(n)se sifts dark from light

buildings are all numb in brown.
around the grace notes lie
host hills. remember:
dumb resistance mimics stone,
tribunals full of fuss
almost disclose their lack
of inner fire. yet one aspires
to join the ranks of the resemblances
to power.

on someone's shoulders, any joust
is not-for-profit, and below
the quasi-dance is not for
stale observance. many playthings
squeak and bounce. you know the drill:

an ounce is worth caressive blooms of prayer.
I'm on the case. you're on the case. something's
about to blister, and it's not your skin. it's not
my skin. it's the rosacea of
distilled new captains of restraint,
who store their feelings in
quaint glottal stops.