When you take an obelisk into retreat
For the shares of sanctimony
And the moral conflict of abhorrent dreams
When you dress your desires with the forever hymns
Of tattered lost circuses and stolen fragrances
From your mother’s closet
It will be time to look to the East
Like shattered prose digging in for afflicted starts
And stops from natures own regression
I will not stand for this stolen identity
This stop motion in time
Like a land of pirated gods
This steel still in your breasts
This portrait of pensive honor
This object of retroactive trespass and regret
Instead, bend me to the otter’s fin
And with one swift motion
Like mother ignoring your text
Stand and be present in the swollen sands
Of parsimony bent in time