Mystic Missives

 A cable, unimpeded from the inimitable denomination of Reality’s collusion, reads as such:

Reeboks demand apartheid’s reckoning

Hats are an enigma to be exploited

Glandular furrows matter, too

Cheap creeps shear sheep in the meadow

Aligning the cornerstones with magnetic fervor

Until the shimmering cloth groans otherwise, redeeming them

I can count on one finger the times I’ve tried

To face down the infinite atop an igloo of white horses

But even in the specular insights of the Fall

I remain unborn.