at the[e]

at the[e] hill where many river meet essay and balk the night plain what word seized this pint of blood.

now the current of imagination paranoia the grab giddy as final ruin, the urn
chappered ashes, not the face of your heart, broken again, broken

. open yer mouth before this ugly smile

god punishes

you & you but not the only space of
repletion & over the mask of its hilling