Come to the autumn buds,
constellation dweller,
unharmed child of the narc squad.
Flock in seeds that sell yourself
to places sticky with gold.
Torn dwellings will name you.
You will get to see your currency in light.
Totems of stacked lids
will surround you with their errors.
The machineries of day and night
are different from one another.
You will gather a family around yourself
and then shuck them off.
Calamities will braid
through the cells of angry creation.
Hubris will move under the clouds
with total passion.
Beautiful ones will have their blade marks,
dunces dragged into the rain
will make orphans of a toolbox.
And the symmetry of death
give its underside to the sun.