maker v. murther

at one i paid a visit to five,
to the tens of men whose two hands are like hives
- and whose savageries are sunk in cautious caulking
- and whose walls are worthed by endless walking
- and whose dangers are drowned in deafening din
- and whose craftsmen eyes sized my outsider sin,
i knelt and stripped that skull from my head
and quietly, on third, at my desk, was dead. 

for hours, four hours. / stillbornbreathed i tickertype til six,

// sick with the fever for resurrectrixe. 

the butcher, the builder, the corporate grin

the ten endless twitchings of un-patient Finn.