I wonder if history is God, or,
That people too often mistake
History for God. I’ve managed
To confine myself in an ontological
Pseudo-inspiration for both
Logical trespass and pacification
If history is God, then I am a
Dormouse in the hallways of
Concession, fabricating my allegories
With a dorsal fin chime. Stolen words
Lost possessions. Like stalwart
Ruins in the decaying matter of
Orange blossoms and rye.