This imaginary shock at the beginning of time
breaks the procrastination of idle deities
incapable of pushing more than a flower a day
through the graceless spikes of their wounded fingers.
 
The predestinarian winces when dry ground is mentioned.
 
The undiscovered sugar of a new dessert
offers up great promise to the devourer of this resource—
but, a rebuttal, nothing palatable is presented.
 
The oystercatcher’s palatine is vaster
and even wetter than the incessant reign of a crying god.
 
This bowl of unhappiness, this death in the family,
this irresponsible Girl Wonder catches a glimpse
of an uncommon traffic of chariots—
this container of spirit is wildly crushed by what’s left.