these lies like lice
we comb your skull
no cat rasp tongue
break your fingers in the prayer
scorpion stingers in the stare
what were you, but a yesterday?
there’s a scratch on the record
there’s an itch in the accord
there is no need for whiskey poured
the holes not the whole are bored
we flew to flow past the flawed floor
pause like a double tower
falls like a dandelion flower
time and ash and all that comes to pass
we recall the small shores, the sea of glass
the ship of fools is a broadcast tied to a mast
signals in the waveform, sea of whitenoise