tom taylor

alerted chasms

nor respond entire the empty solitudes afar
their own repose in question from the distal
yet uncorked a lesson in disguise returns here
from unknown reports from strangers in sin

these are the polar times, surely no outer scale
returns your names into the flow of things at
newer stories as they lean ahead into the sunlight
and clear your throat without sound or substance

they’d let you die of thirst and not know about it
our overseers of the blunted stripe, their own times
alert to the chasm between us rifting wider daily
and closing us out of the loop as if it mattered