Asheville Orlando Apollo

What good is the altar of freedom when you can’t gather at the church?

When the temple is beyond the swing of the sinew of flesh

And get you feverish over the impotence of words, postulating

Cartography, just maps, anvils, just surfaces

And the heart which pumps answers speaks only sighs

I offer a little:

Disintegrate. Disintegration. Solidify. Solidarity.

Heavy bars to fill the spaces.

The mirror and the pond.

The cogent and the sensual.

The break of heat and the length of cold.

Become them complete, relapsing

only for union

only for union

only for union.