A Tariff on Trust

Slowly, a meandering hunger
saws off frostbitten fingers
to make stew of coals in the fire / persistent it will find joy
Slowly, a patient stands naked
not awaiting surgery, or a visitation to witness / but a cubical stream of different magnitudes
Slowly, the paper dissolves / repeating its envy / too tossed to be in airborne
like paper rakes through fire / hidden in placated journeys
and when the fire returns
its hunger is not satiated / but stipulates a cure /
Through force and manipulation
the drawling attire in the duress of
street glad tidings, sing straight lines / coalesced like morning jackets
for forest groves / blistering coals
and broken swords / still in the torrid perpetuity
For the day that may
a primitive future,
like the dull days \ of an empty spring