For Not Us - Rewrite

VIII

for P.C.


There's a lattice
of steel bars
as your voice
in me:
all meaning
fails itself
you can say
trade the wind
like a point
bloated with principle
I'm here
you're there
just beyond
green lines
show how holy
blood each day
is wasted on
prophet tongues
not here—not for
rubble hordes
a grip of stone
pebble pastiche
stoned fiction
for a time
the story seemed
to hold by name
a siege enthroned
ad hominem
ecce homo
ex nihilo.