The Conqueror
just lost his
thirty year mortgage,
found a foreclosure
notice on the front door,
aged with hard weather,
The Conqueror Lord of
the Spoken Word moves
slow motion toward dreams
melting in the Eastern Sun,
Union Square bats no
eyelashes, instead bats a .335
on the road to nuclear nectar

ego 

death moving always
moving, treasures sinking to
the ocean floor.