OPEN.
Bright testaments of heat don their midnight lids,
turn a soft cold shoulder across a vacuumed sea of paradigm in their sleep,
hoping we’ll notice they’re jealous of the moon next door.
Communication falls into an incomprehensible canyons at kitchen tables,
and has no hope of piercing these fathomless walls.
With my mouth on yours, I’d breathe some common sense into you,
but I’ve got none to spare.
I am as foolish as they.
CODA.
Beetled glances posed with glares
in a doubled left shoe swing
leave in their slipstream stubbed poise,
and a hankering for that fertile pyramid.
Only the cast aways might heap into Ah Pook’s beak,
jonesing for headstones with yawning grooves,
as populous cockcrows find them worming in cavernous quilts.
Poplar trees and cattails congeal in tottering barricades
for each bat of the eyelash,
steeping in bizarre cavities of childhood summertime.
A hint of lemonade and cedar bait with the vow of a morning sweetheart,
only to elope to the uniform of old lang syne.
Cemented work boots and the lead rind of the nautical day
are shackles not to be doffed.
The witching hour is a possessive Delilah.
I can’t write for shit.
CALCIFIED.
Please.
Opium mutters, young men still old huff it out,
to please twig thighs and pencil creases.
Blisters of cobweb and limestone congregate.
Chapped lip tongue depressers and wicked lit alarm clocks
hang good sleep, leave it’s boots twitching in a musk of wet sawdust.
Pleased.
Subsequent sediment succors only in the bloodshot,
raw florescent eyelids, and neon teeth grinding.
This vacuum is a fruitless womb.
DOE.
Spread-eagled and tongue-tied,
adrift in a vein of water,
at the mercy of a battering ram.
Snow falls in my mouth and nose, deadens and piles into drifts
whiting out pebble irises.
The river sucks on my finger prints.
Anonymous, I am intimate with water.
It thaws out my humanity,
marries me with my genesis.
Only my teeth know my name.
VOID.
Thick pelts of minutes and hours hunch our shoulders,
tighten our thoughts and fill us with exhausted bile.
With eyes lifted to hazy Castor and Pollux, forever the flesh of our flesh,
and know they already lay in graves of dark matter
in tomorrows we will not pass through,
the pang to shake our souls and the river rocks we fill our pockets with
leads us to construct diving rods.
Seek the womb beneath the thumb of the Atlantic.
Breathe in the rings of Saturn.
Lock eyes with the father of cyclopses, heavy Jupiter
and bottle our Id in lead.
We entered the dimensions of this life in clay,
and we will meet in quiet dust again.
Prey on eternity,
sink in primal canines and devour coals from the sky.
You will only wander through time while it chooses to hover nearby.
PHX. Abbeyghail.
PHX.
PHX. Rodge.
PHX. Roger.
