Where God was not consulted. (now you brought me. now you showed me. now is the time for trees. vision now un-marked.)

soil and smoke froze to a house
like April grenades milking catharsis
where an adroit blacksmith cart a semi wheel
draping the furniture with ghastly deliverance
omnipotent Graceland daddies never in the story
but the furnished greens did mask envy
over the eloquent stash of money in her shows ‘’

where soil and smoke roam free
away from greed and toxins
dare not jump the Earl of Sussex
like earth-patterened children
born too soon where months
make all the difference, like candles
buried in the snow and resting by the window ‘’

mother, please, here my language-dunes in like time
where the stomach pitches time as a rough saber edge
now is the time for trees where huddled masses
experience the laughter of the lies in person
pearls addressing the courted hymns of trousers
stop and fabricate songs for men gone to sleep
sinned bones did not take away the images partially seen ‘’