That the world is a filthy place
that we may have killed it for good
that we become lethal to one another
that the cracked tower bell
rings fives times at nine o’clock
These incur capacities
accumulating lunar dust
which stirs when the bell
leaps up into the tower to see
what beauty’s up to
At this ungodly hour the faithful arrive
again at their abandoned shred
of truth and cling
to the power of clinging
which alone can save.
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