Scenes on Sacrum Sets

Before the grifted wager
the tallied stagger, into brisk
caramel trollies that stop and walk
into oncoming sycophants
like waves of distilled weakness
He never even spoke

Upon the metered tubular stagnant flow
grimacing upon the God of our whispers
given chances and commercial clouds
witnessed for the first time
like a battery of tempered boils
over the stairway schism for lackadaisical
well-earned craft, like a patter in the ash
momenting the diachronic haze
where God does not meet or ignore our passing

Wickers in the fugitive, impermanent trades
tall stumps in the Everglades of time’s mishap