Cohorts of the Seven Kingdoms of Mount Christopher

chary corners on broom smoke swoon
like Michael the Archangel singing folk-blues
along the broken lines of borders unease

dismissing the separated wind chimes
along the chrome stolen boulevard
happy candling ear canals on market

expressions of design, deliberate
and unadorned like grateful plates
of oil and lemon and grassfed statisticians

roaming on grape ceilings
like feathered ash requirements
for the long stall of God’s percussion