The Now Men

There came a howl. They’d been warred—wenched, wormed. The tunnel in the south, by the airport, was loosed: let out. The snakes in stripes, stripped: skinned. They left the limp, long in left lairs. Skinless, eyeless: the once men, estranged from the observation: this life.

How: in heat: how: in heat. The desert will come, rise, like this in morning. It is sky along reflected roaded: drearied. The hijacked poor, lowered into mountain caves with the eyed—do not let them steal.

It was his first hanging. The desert sleeped growth, they will not let the fell fall from water towers. It was his first hanging. The blooded harnessed horses come and come. We dreaded last, we mourned the fathered christ.

The early dream of man was fire. It was his first hanging. The gold from the north, was not theirs, was not the spanish kings. Knights came, once, at first—first rise, sleep child—they too torture and us to sleep: so dawn the unbirthed haven: our world. The early dream of our world.

There came a howl. It was his first hanging. The limped clogged trio are middle men: caught. The kings hold hands and embrace: stand in circles and do not stand the entered dearth: it is depth of darkened hollowed brace: we are kings.

The through until the split, then two halves. A man, on river food and squid legs locked the gold dust in his lungs—to death. And then, alas, there came a howl a butchered bread thief hung at last. The widowed lisp, they have no teeth. The kings take this color to their earths, their statued rememberless lives—all, on hallowed ground. The kings, the lessoned kings, are names.

The names, the new men. The once men. The new men strive to yearn to be the only ones, here alas, to be the once men: forever rememberless. How: in heat: how: in heat. The desert will come, rise, like this in the morning. Only the sky can tell the painted faced the earth in the wind.


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