Skeletal Provisions

the tropical hyena woman strikes at the blades

Skeletal Provisions 


the skeletal provisions
     strung around our necks
                gain 
access—

             to 
tunnels 
to crosswalks
to wounds
to
musical chairs 
to signals from the water—
to an arcade
 

                                                                               an uneven    scattered 
                                                              beginning accelerates—
                          the naming of elephants and
                cyclones

                     in a dry war
                a collisions of serpents 
                completes the 
                                        sacrifice—
   
                        alabaster gestures              a fulcrum of
             intensity 


where                                   calculations
occur             effortlessly

                                       —a compulsion 
                      under wet 
             trees          to count and recount
                                                   the sun-swine boots 

                                                         ( electrical 
                                                            swivel heads 
                                                            storm cathedrals and 
                                                            ask for prayers )


Announcement: silver hydra veils 
the monochromatic angel
our
imagination blinds—
                     us 
to her movements
                     we must be still for
                      once 
                      under the blue racing stars

under the waning        sword noise 
a white buzz of 
balloon tangents
sailing to 
fury—

       in a necrotic fever 
       the tropical hyena 
       woman
       strikes at the blades 
and 
enters the citadel 

                                                                      one slow moon drink           
             and she’s watching the neon carnival 
                                    a nostalgia for a newspaper sanctuary 
                         escalates

                         without headphones on—
                         a tangible 
      thunderstrike!
a caress                    of skull mob singularity
                                 a pillow heaven
                                 a place where
                                 we forget to 
                                 sleep—






Max Wolf Valerio, Sept. 2nd, 2025 
Centennial, Colorado

Thank you and “see” you soon — in the next iteration of this Substack.

Be Wild, Be a Cool mind that knows — create yourself —