Haloed Into Their Addictions

Let them fall away in a sun flare
or a dark planet of obsidian sand
where the rivers are violet and crimson
and the dunes alight with corporeal star.
Let them, haloed, into their addictions
and chemical hairspray, a sadness of final form
where the fingers tried to grip the avenue silt.
Those who have saved us are many.
Those who have ruined us are many still.
In a long van, or a fight over territory
or a slow man, a marching through songs
and a resurrection of character, of rhythm
where the vacationers scream unfettered
into the silence of a textual dream, a course
through the inherited poison of desire
and little scenes of barbecued meat
and if you were to inquire the status
of your true self, a lying self would emerge
in linen and corduroy, holding a ruby di
hands shaking near the laundromat
where the different bags are scaled and piled
to produce another page where writing
provides a future location, a determined action
in further transmission of unlocking implement
a whorl of half-energy, a sentence cohering
into a reality fed by your fantasy and aversion
which were also weather, incorrectly predicted
but clarified in post, made to stand on a wall
where further forms develop unto a remembered symbol.