Spring’s arsenal.
We know what that means.
As if we’re collecting telescopes.
Hoarding stars.

Truth backs up against the wall.
Charm’s enemy with such a straight back.
Precious, bread, weeping, the cross, "nice," lurching.

Agricultural nitrogen
Agricultural phosphorous

One moment in the midst of religion, its closed system.
The weather is not like it used to be.
Always sitting in the darkest place in the café.

That moment when it’s too late for memories
is not a moment I’ve yet experienced.
The moment that is too good to be followed into
is also so because it is too late.

The way pagan cultures accepted the new religion
by Christianity’s repeating & emphasizing the symbolism
of the Mother, the oil business replicates aspects of
a fishing culture through proximity to and livelihoods of
the water.

No one is left, or no one dares
to step into that timespace.
If you are not asking the right question,
it makes you into a type of liar.
Like sidestepping the situation.

How is the weather? Its colder. It’s still raining.
Some of us have to be liars to make truth mean
something, maybe soon none of us will have to be liars.

[I have so many male platonic friendships right now.]

He wants to know about the dark side,
questioning the religious question.
What you’ve avoided all your life, at some point
becoming curious.