sonnet 15

when i reckon everything that gallops
saunters of pure canter but a little while,
that this regal arena hands out zero except points
illustrating ink from secret's outer space;
when i remark humans as ants build cities,
sung about and slandered in the same breath,
sappy sweet in youth, decayed in sugar's slump of a century
varnishing the brain of any residual mind
over the plains in a rich blur of nomadic flight,
where yurt move astral nods to bigger clocks& finish line
     and, all in a race with Truth for love of you
     as Truth takes from you, i fuel you anew.