Wayward Squire Assigned by the God of No Religion

what ship does it take
what ship does it make
on the outside of the door
singing paralees like songbirds before
do not step on the ashes or contours of my saving chimes
there were never any songbirds before the glorified times

there are ashes wet, which sweet birds and borrowed tongue snatchers
please be patient while “I” grab the solidified entrapped closure
the riddled adder where borrow in scope the enseized retrograde
all the while the soap launches it jewels in the degrowth community
taken from sat on stones and currents like where Dolly lives
we know there is a heaven for our lady of perpetual motion

do not sing that “I” have no tools to fix him
“I” am never secure with the idea of knowing his dismemberment
of taste, tested ambition, forced inclusion into my salutary walls
“I” never conditioned him to know love, as “I” rested my case
“I” knew he would seek it so naturally, but “I” gave too much space
here in the surplus of heaven do I inquire, who wants a wayward squire