To Our Leader

We seek stars for grain to pass through our hands and,
like uselessness, feast on the feats of you
to find hope in a thousand shatters
and a silk among the glass.

We open bottles of the cosmos
and live of the rocks that fall while you,
ascendant, clothe in aether and sun warmed wine
to bathe in raditation and mass.
Ascendant geometric, hand us your world
on a platter of our shapelessness!
Drink of our bodies and sweat and,
in the end, it is your blood staining your square lips that will,
drunken, spew the means of your ends to scent
our milk with your perfumes.