Filaments were broken, fingers retraced

and the maps were useless, the charts were blank;
The mindless consortium of class replaced
by the intestinal quiver of kink:
The plants were not yellowed, the soil was moist,
and the birds hawked and prayed in the shadows;
The sparrows were marrows to the unvoiced
affricate judgings from the seasick gallows:
And the fop peregrines discovered worlds –
thus divesting the air of its patchwork –
and they soared and they soared and then unfurled
velvet blankets and apposite thatchwork:
These sonnets are merely the consequence
of my blindness before dark currents.
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