FROM HISTORY OF THE FAR FUTURE


Unveiled with an eye
closed. This is not
the path but the way

of unbeing, of altering. Alternating,
                  abandon.                An island

that stills the waves. Even the most jaded
feel a spike, the vein tapped and running. I
                                    am obfuscation

in the guise of a language that

                  I cannot help but translate. These are my wings,
my umlauts.