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I. What to make, of, bold, tonight, writing.

Within lairs, formulaic?

of bold writing. Tonight I do

II. Where to be, sweet gramen.

Where to be? This night, when simples

meet their shrines, dare play melodies?

III. When clocks tolled lies? Bandits

when they wake? Thieves stealing

Ancient codices marking trifles – Minerva’s belching maize.

IIII. Art: Of it make what of it? Sweet gramen?

Leopards and lions feed upon you. O’ son of many bitches.

Praetor, art thou hungry?

IIIII. Of nature’s pools? "Can’t be," he said.

Pooling by the roots of maize. "Can’t be of…"

of bold writing, twinkling?

IIIIII. One times six ago I and never looking back

seek the praetor, the chameleonic praetor. Wed in his locks.

Where cats cast their dust .

IIIIIII. Two times five before then silence waves to me.

Before me when, stellar pulsars wave their minstrel’s

comets behind in wake. Bull

(silence = shh)

IIIIIIIIT This is it? Order junctures order. This synectic praetor.

Blue and green, miles high, how

Don praetor, move please and shed your cape of night.

The night is only dark so

you can’t
see.

But carry light, mon praetor.

You’d better watch the heavy burden of passing time.

[A posteriori]