acclimodept in closed contention

acceded the acclimodept to start, considering the groundwork of his art:

we say: “go to the edges, strive, bring the borders back alive inside youreflexing mind and muscle.”

and yes, i will admit the sense of center is a side we sometimes lose; we who chase the chiefrontiers are found, from time to time, to [. . .]

acclimodept[h] perception

he counts the curves on a cloud near the sun, the only one in a close-to-clear sky; then he curtains that window of clarity closed, finds and follows the flight of a fly against the gloom of his shuttered room. he fumbles at first, and the relight’s the worst, but soon enough he learns how [. . .]

acclimodept’s inception

water warrants, by its winding: burning is a brand of binding.

wendigo whispers on the wing: skinning skies soothes star[v]ing’s sting.

willow waves in winter wild: choices chisel chief from child.

in the white between day and night, the acolyte is winnowhittled. waking, muscles aching, he’s acclimated by as much as he’s be[en]littled.