in god we trussed

cranes to see, to lift,
the bracket paragons a frame fits
fifty arm chairs above
 the pebbled roughs who walk stiff and puffed
limits on height a dragon wished
though never a bird parched up there there be


for far and few between I know
a black lattice horizon groans
spinning on bearings north and north
were standed at ease
in the burning breaze


lines descend to beyond earths crust
devils directions heave them up
hooks and chains in slo-mo whip
pythagoras as given in a book