Caol Illa

Knock-tooth, the guardian of the gate languid, perhaps couchant
His marbled thighs shift in the shade-play under flapped flags
flagging mortems license postulant. Knock-tooth, unperturbed

Halsted & Diversey

Muffled untroubled torrents trip the lights
red red green
and now washing away in stunted streams
rolled lines laughing darkly
the sky dreams a snarl of morning
foliage flimsy and for small stutters of
brack breath: the last winds foiled
in the crush of the streets

Core lines

Filing in, filling shacked, blacked, bordered with marks of marble
long rolling laterals, shifted slowly. Arched tension, bridges of
cut iron ten thousand degrees of rotation, torque, flimsy things on

Arbiter, what is this you shout so sonorously. Ponderous. Plodding.

Snipped under lines of sturgeon. Snipped under cannon fire. The sharp
rat tat of flipping wire. Boatswain, what have you done?