False Flag
the elder reaches out,
sanctifies his wish
to colonize his
decrepitude—my little red
book of awe takes note
of his request, begins
constructing the ledger
that will hold sway
for generations. His mouth
turns down at the corners
as he fingers the quill, thumbs
the parchment. His mutterings
are dead & unintelligible. He points
at the sky, aledark & angry, then
himself, then at the infrastructure
of caves in the mountains behind
us. I nod, take out my redness,
circle all the items he has forgotten about.
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