One ever feels

Consider the veneer of nerve alongside

the lore of the ancient fern who is

its own lover. Or a wolf hiding

a howl up its sleeve. Whistle the whole while

the heist goes down and wish on your elevens,

owl. One lever starts the fete, one resists

the fetish verse. Take your role as silo or

foe and let the sun sing on that heft.

What can you do with gold? Above this filth,

this shit frees too. A slow kingdom arrives

just over the atmospheric river. Sing 

the selfish river, the holiest thesis.