Principles of Alignment
I am inert, listless. I am: my own personal shaman, gazing starward, hell-bent to clean old veins of the fatty scraps, to tug at the lint of sleep thieves, dancing the new sacrifice, drumming the hangèd man’s dance, twisting my limbs into a question.
My whisper, one verb, rises like this slate-grey smoke, ascending spire-wise, filling the church of my own voice in answer.
This one verb, I offer, in my speechless fashion.