when the levels uplit the levels

half of this and half of that
as though such draughts
and the house half full of ghosts
of the interior and interior
reckoning, for only then

as though some judgement or determination
from on high
as a kite flying low over the levels
it comes
knocking at three am
what you ask what
but it stands there pale
as harvests as half-eated bad moons with no faces

that anyone would recognise such things
at all is beyond
the pale/faced and tied
to the pole squirming before the denouement
where yes all that
as expected oh

it's love
and nothing at all
just a plane that fell from the sky
in pieces like ashen snow
just a boy
sick with it
off school
forever

.