sandpipes and poised attack prose

burning like a gasket in the tired winter afternoon where turbulence lights the way
reminiscent water shelter hives take refuge in the collapsing colony for tomorrow
for the future’s ending cacophony and tempered tiered aluminum straights
no where does this say it will be the only exit, but the only one for you
this night of trembling doves and pardoned sandpipes, just moisture in the fog
mountains that did not obey you will seek their hearts in the other, magnified
in the other like some ontological wishing well that becomes one within one
learning to escape the coming tired winter afternoon like lilies in the mountain
like drifting turtles in the fountain of remembered evening tides that did not forget
pretending you were not present as a real person, not being confused with measure
icons and poised attack prose, no, there was almost someone there, someone very hurt