We Move and Do Not Move
I take the tale as it is told.
I am but a passive listener.
I breathe flames and rime
A song of salt and rust.
I spin no tales of gods or men
There will be no takers of time.
A mere pittance do I offer,
A life of mortgage and loss,
Hours in thrall of a dead-eyed king,
Hoping for an absent Christ,
A thought, perhaps, to quell the flame,
A chance to make of void something new.
Destructive Anachronism 