They must be fraught enough to carry the weight.
Of the world.
You say carry.
Whatever they are.
Incisors that bite down.
Cony, pika, lemming.
Invaders, so-called home.
Rats shit fifty times a day.
So when they say,
“I nearly shat myself”
they don’t say much.
Icarus’s wings.
It’s best to fly by night.
As they do.
Blood chills then.
Look at the Roman aqueducts
cooling in the night.
The marbling, the fat.
Served au jus.
Your vessels.
Your liege.
Cony, Sappho, Homer.
Spit agleam.


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