As sight, bound As bond, heard As lore, homeland As need, felt everywhere When the river is lodged When the Moon peaks Kora, kora to arch feet Joy to ankles, eyes to street Caring not lumpia, spätzle, oxtail If it moves, it is tidal communion Making Scrupulous dessert Always seeing the first time Euphonious, wise, As her, temple grown Windows walked open Used as long winds To calm the tastes Of a hound's bite to life Be not concierge to night Try for blood on gods' chins The arbiter, the lover, the brute Spying the priest as brain-dulling thief Displaying the toys for their masters; Faith is another term for narcissism The belief that the self is beyond reproach Under the eyes of the less fortunate In this flesh, enduring a fold under watch Of portraiture wuthering sensual abuses I never choose to run; enjoying the push Is the kris of leisure brought home to love Too into herself to enjoy the hurts being dealt Easily, vibrantly, evilly scarified by acceptance Lit by the gas circling the drains in her midst Humbly entranced by a communally miserable kindness Belles with and without balls carrying the high hills for horses Dragging their bellies through the mud of good intentions Confident enough for a crisis told in innumerable acts Out of the fire and into the oven of one's own praises No allegiance No conceit Standing in power Giving that work Have me Coming, going, or leaving Tastes of the future They doth protest for more