thunder came
and the tribe dispersed
--tenth rendering of  scorpion corp's mission statement

her voice holds mortality
singing from the mezzanine,
 longing- drug laced muezzin 
candy from the decadent popsicle fields
of aksmen askwomen dot cosmos
godlets, he said. rivulets on the windshield.

it would be good to speak of the grains
of sand spread over her feet,
 the salt  in her hair , her hair again
in your eyes. let's meet
 in the grass without blame
. let it stain your shoes and remove them,
 run bare across her gaze.

the tower's built again and again.
  mathematics  tries to code
into architecture, a unity of panes
lintels and posts , a conflagration
of ideas interstate truck growling
up the staircase to clouds. flight's
desire. feather spin spin, twist
gyre , breath and bone and tendon
masters the curve of wind.

the romantic sits by her computer
thinking of nexxus and copyright.
an hour of waiting for the movie to begin.
she hopes there are subtitles in three
of her languages: mood, grace & scent.

when she tells your story, please raise
your hand and walk to the top of a pyramid.
here are 17 , impacted
in the sands of egypt  extracted
by infrared satellite
from the dust of all the deaths
 you've felt since she left.

her voice has gone tremelo
reaching into your eyes
pulling heaven from them
in a thousand new dialects.