whatever
i have known
in thought
through observation
has trickled
through the
hollow holes
that hearken
solstice winds
in shapes
and sounds
from profound
to mundane
demanding
their address
effortlessly
spent
like pleasantries
appeasing
pastime purpose
presently
with serpent’s tongue
through absent blessings
fed to flames
then cleft in twain
on the overhung edge
of our sanity
dissimulated
Max, or Not 