like a candled freedom snuffed by a junta:
wounded echo. Crumbly shale of ocean
plates makes for din of dinner-party brawl
while descending in a broken country
scramble from the mountain's shrugging
shoulders. In the kicking crush of footprints,
a micro avalanche of each soul's presence.
Man's a gnawing animal lugging
the ancient crowbar of his want. Woman
too, jimmying, prying her womb open
to deliver a blue sachet of goods
and bads. Power vacuums all the tiny
valuables into its silk purse of prophets.