clutch lender; why the decanter- does not recant

meet the motion
and the junction, will arrive with
in the stem flowering in
you, the queen
sun turns back before
going down, in to
her red yawn,
get to
know the paper sack the
paranoid religion of
evening, get slipped
the moon blessed poetry
of rivers, not looking for but finding shoeless
counties
legs running pumped and,
steaming
the holy rage streams through
you at
the city water board- where
cruelty is fresh awash in Daphne hair,
there IT coolly
bares the heat and steel
& pressed to earths
anvil IT resolves not to bend,
rises up in mammalian
rebellion slowly obliterating
under the corrugated clay canopy
IT is
elevated by shafts; light
cams mobile, dancing
the sky
stale onion skin from
its dusty death, to
firm firmament, to roiling blue
to the royal doubt,
that has doubted you all your life
and recast your life a bone
dwelling shadow IT lights
the bones own marrow.