Is it always there?
Is it the skin I wear or the subtle laborer
who awaits in the peripheral
for the executioner’s turn in affairs?
A square –
a chair in the middle of new venues of despair.
A royal heir and a nightmare to declare.
Opposition is the key
by which it masters entrance.
Ingest the glacial fire
and dive into the streams
of these sleep deprived dreams
when the course beyond the common walls
blows air with an image it cannot bear.