Untitled #57: father of dry oil

we spoke of father’s distinct promise
humble in illusory cow dens for brake matches
buried under esoteric tides with fallen curved space
like carpet shades of peach and orange willful grace and sleeping

scarred highway curtains for Culzean Castle
trespass like a night in the desert, flames upon meadows
where trailer rainbows guess your name and does not journey

castle palms, corrected green ash and dust that does not know
stem stone trust wrestled away, farther from obliged observation
nocturnal niceties musing the stalwart’s janitorial safeguards and rebuke
beyond linear basement lights and pillow dressings for Tawny owls

roasted postcards laughing at the dust, an abasement of calculations
treasonous nights forefought and appalled in resemblance
marred and healed by raising tones, sonic dispersal
violins and counting hymns, too rich to dispose the king
night visions and struck recycling vents where the wind does not
dare to begin to find sold oil waiters with spoken for limbs

where justice may or may not be is bacteria in the sails
under staunch waste the beauty hibernates, coils, and makes tender
leaves us in mindfulness techniques like empty white rooms
owls’s nests from a distance, humming apostasy winter oil
broken willow hymns of tergiversation upon shadows malfeasant
grateful made-bed promises taken in by dry scent castles, that father