It’s nearly dawn in the zones and smoke presses the room.
Talk is now inanimate, you can't get away from circles
the band pounds them, beer walls become automatic.
Can you go far enough away with your poor tongue-tied body
safe in ragged circumference? You'd be better off near water
or plotless in heat. Come to the river to pray where
alien versions connect, gods swinging as we're dodging.
Huge elephants dance among us.
Fear the stillness washing away in the heart of rage.
You can’t stop to give tribute. Language detaches its tongues
tracking this crowd as familiars merge. You’re deceived
washed with the eternal, or one of a piece with the new state
of hardness, scared of your own versions, your own release
locked on top of night, if it’s enough to be discovered.