False Weavers -

Come to take water

And don’t get away.

Bringing in medals and flags to hang

From the east, saddled burglary.

This is life under the moon.

Commander makes home with Sand Creek

Weavers, false weavers!

Were we to dig, were we to bury?

The grave is full

To compensate for the magistrate

Its recyclable

Spending days asleep awake

Till we see the bull

I have watched the crowds come,

I’ve seen the bulls come

The momentum of the past is consumed with the furious hunger of aching lips.

I have watched the crowds come moving with a quick wrist, greeting

Forgotten gods, making surfaces at the morning of repose

Fort promises are a poor sack.