CASTOR

There's nothing wrong with the double
amidst the rollicking bearclaws
of the hive mind. A manifesto
is a fashion statement, try to walk
when you have no legs. Certain scandinavian
models are opiate & gigantic.
The winds of this land furrow
my brow. Oily pistons in the hierarchy
of mimesis. She's a watchmaker &
also an exotic dancer. My brother's
a leviathan & churl, he straddles
a dark place & a light place. "Ford
the river," the booming voice said:
the River Fjord the River Gold the river
broke & its yolk was the freezing mass
of my soul. Culture turns to sinister
mulch. The skinny legs of the preposition,
proposition, or fulsome predicament are
no match for my brother's spores or his
shining bolts. Imagine, we came from
or in a womb of spiders:
It's not so bad, Daddy
Longlegs, your poison teeth
cannot pierce the skin.