The ankhubus descends into the inner earth.
My liver drips with art. Machine screws connect to the construction of a night for convenience.
An Axe desires to fall just a void desires to be.
Malaydin explains his discrimination to the massing crowd.
A riot flouts heedlessly, impassivity is futile.
All preoccupied, and all impatient.
All in-hived, innate and predatory.
Turn around, face-to-face, yourself.
Change, change, change, it’s the right thing to do.
The distance works against itself for the first time in my life.
This is Labora Year.
This is where I keep my water, my tools, my machine screws,
corrective tissue, tryin’ to keep our eyes looking upward.