I hollowed an imprint in the spongy block i travel in -
The only terminal reminder of the harvest is strapped in clay, fired in crimson
and the only animation i see,
suspended before me, contraband to my eyes.
I never know which way i am pointed and for a moment she fumbled with the razor in my head.
A long strumming of the corpuscle
and a winding of the clock.
My only sense of the moment is the blinking of my eyes, and my tearing out of anger with the remaining hand attached to me.

The resurrection of original sin is
enough to parlay my pinwheel existence, tethered to a fathomless interlude...

The redhead demands grotesque attentiveness
and she plays herself over and over
as cats in tunics dance through me.

This radioactive reservoir siphons my love to me -
she dances as a faerie through an intolerable yearning riddled with nightshade and a kiss in the garden.
In an instant with the mortar,
her volatile song lulls me to sleep.
I am no longer,and not a liar anymore.
As if i surrendered, as if i whispered our secret -
i believe she granted herself absolution.

My arms, in deliberate movement
have ripped away her tether
and all i have left is to ponder the geometry of the honey bee.

The only singing anymore, from the redhead
i think she saved my life as she cums over her bosendorfer.

I lost my footing and toyed at the edge as if i could reach through the drought.
Mother told me of the spices she used, they're my favorites to cook with.
Lost in her golden braids;
there a glimpse of my effervescence
and refinement that is laced with silver
as my soul silences the rain.

-My building blocks are in opposition to the moon-

Seeing the light at the cathedral
I watched my legs pronounce themselves.......
And as i was handed the tartan,a new doorstop pitted my head...

I never trusted my little witch
even as the glass entwined the carpet with violet #46.

Folded in half, my body part of the dissolution
I watch the sticky paper hold the ants as the chandelier holds my head..............

I rest now, the fall still in front of me;
and lingering on and on the voice of the loon
drowning out the sound of my redhead.

In a cold jetting of ice, a fulmination
i've crossed over -
Then with my fingers like a maiden over your mouth,
I only ripped out your utterances, like a timbre to a quill…..
I only remember your treachery clearly.

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