on a hill where the tiber was swampoodle
nacotchtank
predawn moon the grace over capitol dome
synthetically bright light twentyfirst century tents
foregound in walks dry fountains
just where rolling steel ends
in a hall
manipulation of space
frigidarium tepidarium caldarium
arriving people from allover
arriving old black sun from long ago for burning
from daysaway uplifted now soaring swamps
people in
synthetically bright light twentyfirst century tents
are not so welcome in columbus circle
as they are by a mischief
predawn moon
meanwhile our minutes away patricia
cozy thankyou in gated urbia suburbia
quiet are our moments our fascist soul
do i pretend my ennui is anger
will be made to sever the ducts of old black sun
by sun just now
and oxygens stuck just now with old black sun