soil vesiculated through the grooves of identity. from where, once, one arose, caked between the edges- a ledger of time so spent the grace of decay, intended in the way has habitually happened- and praise be, to the utility, the non-emoted repurpose, the holy rot, made fuel, of which a fool thinks himself deserving

less, speech

silent, that bastard and right when least most expected. so sold, so, infected the convections of overlooked yesterdays, the fix, nice, and quick for to quake awake the off cast fever-   to take, and bleed believer-   to weave there, or, here, or anywhere-   to feel faith, (understated at least)-   to feel…