It’s all a game but oh
The game is what
Makes it a splendor,
Being kissed by sunlight
In the only order that
Is disorder, the things
Proven to satiate
The same to
.
Snipe. The tunic
Of responsibility
You wear begins when you’re
Sitting there as an offspring and
Just giving, giving that
Gold light
That you have
As a young child
And then to pile up
Ploys, gestures,
Mimicries and compensations,
Like Christmas
.
Tree ornaments
After the
Nadir, and
So we wander.