Heaving crosspiece of naiveté
Sojourning, do I trust
Take the punctured soul
Of the one who handed it to you
And smell the capital ruins

Forget your aqueduct, Roman
Walk from the ditch to
The spilling
Examine the chambered pipe that throbs
With a somewhat reasonable longing

Grieve the bone’s curving buttress
Staying the pillars of a man like Samson
Keep it together
Else you’ll lose everything
That gives you breath

Or live long enough to watch
The temple lay waste
And you, a remnant
Of nothing more or less than
Hollow wineskins and blest vestiges




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