IF I HAD A HAMMER you were pegged

deeper into the permafrost, your head

still ringing with redemption, crooked one:

not correspondant to command, aetherial

bombardment, or the proliferated

worm-in-the-gut of guilt

displayed as worm-in-a-jar,

resume your forlorn murmuring; discurse,

rejuvenated by sloughed biomass.