to the tower at the top of the hill,
a monument of current in two dimensions
on dead gold and deep green waiting for fire:
I will point these thin blades at your triangular
indifference

slow raaa

un finished bear

We saw it coming as
it ambled up the path toward
the bridge we were to cross. I stopped, almost
tripped on the granite boulder buried in
the path (the path, after
all, was only a thin dirt cover on
the blank rock we

climbed.) "Bear," I said and the others laughed until
they too saw it. It still not noticing us until
it looked up with
half-interest, and it, too, stopped dead in
its tracks. We

should know what to do. We had prepared for
this climb for
months, but now, face to
face with the grunting, dead-eyed juvenile, my mind slipped:

These histories are
written but never
known. The
shapes of our lives, these dark corners, these sins
committed in our names:

this city of prisoners,
this war of attrition,
this blindfolded man who
waits for the shot,

this sea of exiles, this blue
block in

Incredible breath
Indelible death
Inedible sky
Intangible crest

Illogical sky
Incredible sun
Inaudible sigh
Inaudible fun

In Angeles sky
Ill on a dul

Wreckx-n-Effect's syllabic prediction

Trumps in the rumps, bumps in the dumps, stumps in the humps, slumps in the Gumps, lumps in the mumps, frumps in the slumps, thumps in the grumps, jumps in the umps.