Evening heretical. Lately aflame. Thousands of glass shards. Scintillating. Under the glare of a truck’s headlights. Wind which skirts to dress. [Billboard lit with a murder victim’s face][HAVE YOU DONE YOUR HEART?] Which was left undressed. Somewhen a man separates soft tissue from its grave. Somewhen a prophet heaves. Glittering from the balcony. Whereas in four cantos a gilded war proceeds. And dust thrown is the same dust. I am alive as a true owl torques its head, sees 180 futures on an axis of bone. Look! Volcanic snow. A forward-facing god. Through street lamps. Flickering phosphorescent. And furious. I am. Undressing. In the non-euclidian room. Fire storms. Water boils. Atoms quilt into flesh. I press my hands to my temples. To the ground. Possessed. Becoming someone or something. Breathing bleeding into. The blessed. The blessed.