jeweléd

“oxen wild like bellowed land”

after most things have happened, Chaon appears.
he’s filth, a mishmash theophage guzzling chaos

out of the city, draining it to linearity. doors become
invisible, alphabets realign their orders under the

meshes of our speech. I will mutely scowl says the sun.
I will turn the Chrysler Building inside out.

he drank so much chaos they called him Chaon,
of course. he took all but two of every household

(as though walls even existed, or remembered light)
and lived in the sky with them. open air pivoting,

invisible embouchure into a body of contradictions.
or into nobody if that’s who we are. I was righteous

out of my age, says Chaon. I soldered together
the seams of the sky, I blew breath into the city’s

gridded syntax. weeks without rain. flesh in no
number. recombinant grammars flash in the

skyline. the doorway. a language all breath
conspires in. bandwidths enlacing to form noise.