From the Verse Essays of Ivar Benløs: "Time Is the Warp and Matter the Weft"

Death is the hurtling shuttle.
Shoot your arrows endlessly
Until pinioned heads explode.
Why are the victims so cruel?
Among us there is beauty,
But no commiseration.
Everything is everything

Always and the approaching
Speck of an exploding world
A trillionth of a trillionth
Of a trillionth of a bit,
The first bit of time that warped
Everything that would matter,
Bursts from the bent back longbow

Of an archer on a shield
No one ever lives to see.
The pilgrim loved the texture
Of a life, intricacy,
And did not turn away from
What no one should like to see,
The hints that gods are hungry

And consume their holy meals
Swiftly, surreptitiously,
So that more offerings come.
I am offering these lines
Of cobbled-together verse
As a cobbler offers prayer,
In faint hope I am not me.