tomorrow E’rth’s patience for pearl-like songs

car stools in Mother Glory’s absent faucet rules of tepid time-lapses
through a passive army of savage pacifiers set in painful remonstrances
like teething time-lapses altogether among the dropped tones
Of Cat Clyde’s broken journals all meant for the larger entreat of scold’s bridle
Singing like rocks and stones passing though a mount’an of pearl books
latter patrons in Xinjiang basins and stonefly brooks and entreating passages
Mother E’rth’s rhythms of patronage Sa’nts fools for circumverant mosaic lines
Matching cold ponds like steel frames embedded in branch curtains, now gone

but tomorrow E’rth opens her torrid breasts for nomad percussions under the implied
season with tufted grass straits leavings and passings this way and that way, under
moments that we all passed on, leaving to our fathers like stones in the driveway
Tomorrow gold toil furnaces rejoin the sediment labor of dowry imposed ligaments
Cold to the touch like microwave stations on urban farms where jewelry passages break
steepled numbers where F’ther Prison’s contrition denies the broken journals like water
Where borehole science sprung new portière gates and fragmented insatiate flower beetles
For remorse like no door could cart away or impart a partner’s song like a tired journey

There are no stanzas that could find the strength or elapsing laughing tears
we only have one another from Iran to Belgium and scattered towns among the written hours