Woman From The Well

Why expect to be more fantastic than any tree
Or the Blue of Noon

Your nobility transcends grace
And any need to do better

We are merely accepting change
Its cycles, sleep cycles

I imagined icicles on a fire escape before the world burned
And they are beautiful

II.

I can press my genesis from a priest
Holy sacrament from sordid scrotums
Everywhere young
Faces breathing crusts
Of dreams
The city is lit by the single most fire
Plume of labored disorder
Each sabbath signed our eyes
With every morning coin