Leviathan Grok, a cordial laid in its core

faded waters
beneath the stylus

and where the bridge
is lowing
the mother leads us
away from the egg

and all oblivion
in its arc is said
to ache to oh

hot minion
their capricious dread
and file
across the bridge
where the land
just kisses
at the snake

peace fake
or war unreal
duty to words
and image
unruly