the lake

in the slathering shelves a

neck ,or formin streams ,th

e e e ants s s s yr leg in

hales ,or rip aeneid fog

a ,conFlagration ,b lack p

ages br icked inside the

w alls ,if walls were mou

ths ,the titled bindings’ dus

ty rain gilds my hair ,s

warming text or th

ought ,what’s drained and

g ripped the mirrored codex

where yr tongue’s sucked back

,and out ,the re direction’s ver

sal’s lasrev once and ecno a

gain niaga ,after the qua

king end ,and a face t

urned edisni inside out

...in the trans-temporal library...

inscribed with nearly microscopic

texts...a thin hovering frame...

- Lanny Quarles