Diagonal Bishop

I am a bishop waiting
In diagonal patience.
I sit on this boring dry square
Oceanic with a desire to slant forward
or back.

A Bishop,
In diagonal patience,
I sit.
It gets boring.

When is the battle?
What channel is it on?
Am I a minister of death praying for war?
...some sort of diagonal patience

A Bishop
In diagonal patience
What a concept...
My home suburbia.
The dry lands of mind,
Wet in the Western rains
Whose winds, with that diagonal patience,,
Fill the land with a gray gay infinity,
Patiently in the diagonal.

When does a bishop move?
Who counts the nodes of the galaxies?
The min-max trees of karma
Dimensionality?
Wessonality?
Is the spirit marketing?
To evaluate green rectangles,
Diagonal patience
Horizontal profit.

With money thus, the patient Bishop of Diagnostic is:
An ecosystem,
A Capitalism,
A Schism,
A health food store,
A whore.
The Diagonal Bishop of Bore,
Glued to Desert Storm laser-guided Christian patience.
With grace may he watch as we consume races.

When is a Bishop supposed to die,
Trade himself for his counterpart
Or maybe a lowly pawn?
Does this diagonal patience reek of stalemate,
Necessarily in that order
In what future?
Does a bishop die,
To be reborn as king?
Or is simply this diagonal patience
One of many rings?
We are many things.