I fear I’ll have to quarter the dime to save my sharecropper’s Rembrandt exile,
remind my soles to chirp the gravel, drag not an empty ounce further till the severer of heads removes mine
and places it on the mast of a juniper ship, bound for Ignominy, the land of impoverished pursuits.
Wealth in the reluctance of my fortunes precludes my vanity in chasing the unrelenting stir of tribal
hidden formulas, of rich treason I infiltrate the cities of bastion alley doorways,
to seek my measure in bales of hackseed. Remove my feathers of dampened flight.
I’ll float in osmos tidings, from servile dominion to argyle escape! – Sinz