the roiling will be there regardless
time not needed to fight through
just milling raw spatial change
to manifest, to west out where you can roam idle for whiles
hop on the preacher’s twisted scales
unbalanced projecting contrarian outward
i’m serious, not curious
his untied anchor just kind of sits
awfully, heavily malcontent
there’s a church, offset, at the fork
heels dug in to landfill and loam
honing where and what god knows
quoting Judges and Legalese because it
knows what’s right
Butter [age-appropriate gender descriptor]'s Cave 