the white for
each of us Grail-searching steed
pales variously, un-
shods beyond our notice
and abiliity to smith

apocalypse increases indi-
vidually - maps of mind
rent by itterous foldings, maps
of heart diluting beat by day

and all for a
naughtable born in April
cruel, teasing thing,
dry-rot turrning glance
by glance into rainbow (rose
in mouth) -esques

good, though,
that we search on -
keeps id modulated, war
from collecting every last skull

...perhaps
we are Grail's after-all -
feet to stand on,
open to sky's personal tabula

...perhaps this urge
is shadow-mere,
bent somehow
on having heart say 'here',
mind say 'no, no - here'

good, though,
that we journey on -
verve never slouched
by weariness