Beowulf Dadunar

Dear Oblivion
The boy hears you in his blood
set out to dry in a field
of plagioclase and gamma.

What does it mean —
to be so beautiful of crowds
gathering particles rise so young
that crowds download
vivisected tungsten light,
are you still hungry, boy?

The scene builds —
a mother partitioning
drives, a suitor waits
impudent as spilled
house paint across
wild angels.

The daughter
screams
at sunset — napalm —
who's already answered
the call, Dear Oblivion, we
arrive on this star
together.

These are family
dynamics as market
dominance writ large across
wild honeysuckle
cosmos — data recovery.

The boy tells me the bald eagle
was once an osprey
or mississippi kite and
the boeing c-17 globemaster iii
once dropped a payload
on dead terrestrials
six consecutive summers
between eighty-seven and ninety-three.