The quiet orthodoxy of more

than just fitting in,

snug your cry, never to conquer your poverty

of dance



The quiet orthodoxy of distance

unpiercing and asymptotic

here, take this mug - it belongs to your

absent hand that had thieved it prior

and placed it there, right there, perfectly there



So we would not…

Going nowhere fast - and the drunkard's okay with that

walking by gardens and globes

sundials and a love seat

and the whole place has the scent of 

normality, neither sweet nor stale,



the brewing happy gales destroy tree

branches

randomly. It makes little difference to them

the patterns are either tyranny, 

free or the obsession between these three…