No flowers for your brass
marches. Basses past October,
the Revolution's historic diaspora
awaits no river's call.


Bells still scale the ideal.
Triads peel its every truth to apple's core.
Heat drowns remarkable blisters
of everyday. Conundrum's
bearded feet shriek the fall.

No rivers await the sleeping.
Awake the wizard's Gospel dread
the moment shedding. Theorems
of trinities trace threads of.

Umbrage awaits like patrons,
primitive symbols all.

The circle starts where end
laces g-strings. In cases
Stradivarius knows quill feathers
and trumpet's

crazy brother no body bothers
with drums. Tonight at new
the same old elixir, stance
fruitless. Alchemy dance burns

the water, awaits.