conviction

supernal as in overhead as in latticed
light as in a glance will do to keep
me alive

fuck, gilroy, said the sous chef,
gimme better reasons than that to
keep bonging that

gong

to asseverate

the virtue of bonging to obfuscate
the conditions of tenure to
(you guessed it) pontificate

about the government’s rowboat policy how
we all need a licence to lean on an oar
to elucidate the matter at hand, light as it’s

true, i was the son
of a red-haired
youth and

i am son to a salvation of sorts, who
comes from o’er the seas, that makes me
sick with the salt of it the bitterness of

displacing the displaced with, well, a
drop in a well for a moment i hear it
go drop

then i turn to the sky and am sick
with the fear
of goodbye we had such a short time to