Cutting torch hot,

bright white

that spits steel

until the form relents,

hostile and angry.

Carving will

into the world,

like rivers that split the land

and plates crack

deep in the Earth.

The turtle moves

and the shell rumbles.




other slick additions,

let them multiply.

Just more food

for the world that they occupy.

Space is at a premium, now.

All outsiders need not apply.


Hot as the desert afternoon.

Cold as the night in December,

January, February;

extreme to the n’th degree.

Spectrums decreed.

“All knowledge flows from me.”

What a lie that turned out to be.


Days of a long gone belief,

chamfered and annealed,

weighed, measured

and headspace checked.

Hold on the your truth

and your nation.

Hold on to the right

with the left.


Look up to the sky and stake claim,

because the bullet’s coming

and it’s a fair bet who is next.


Falling down rabbit holes,

finding gold.

Old wive’s tales

are truer than most.


No accounting for

the nature of human depravity.

I cling close to insanity.

These days it makes sense to me.

Asking me,

“Is this real blasphemy?”

I don’t even know anymore.

I just burn hot.

Hotter than I’ve ever been before.

Because the cold is here.

It’s in the heart now.


HG – 2019

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