No glory here in riding three-
quarter ark from fire to
earth buried
by brick and swept
away, under
sigils,
etching-notes from giants with
familiar hands wrestle
and set thier chisle
20 years past away, under
(There's ice in her now, I stole her thunder)
someone here's a liar,
unfit to stand with broken sticks
such elbows aren't meant for crawling
away, from under,
and the crane fell, no
hands to lift the boulders
"maybe" he thinks,
breaded in rubble
"it's time to abandon the metaphore"
stand up, brush off, and gravitate.
Author notes
Parenthesis denotes a complete lie, in this case
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