I have never seen a ghost so white
as white as matter twisting through a dawn.
a dawn for Ox to ravish only snow.
low tide alive and kicking like a fish,
I dared to kneel to mingle with the manner ill-conceived;
coincidence or planned I cannot guess of who or who,
a morning sun of sedative
white sea alive and ticking second hand,
second hand to widows tears of he of high command;
like shadow to the fog
an arctic kick through the cancer of the cold,
cold day of light
I have never seen a ghost so white
white fever through the mourning mouths as still as I kneel hollow.
sorrow comes as salt-mine through the arches of the neck
a freckled fig begs Hamlet route a lesser tragedy
a tragedy with colour through the eye-balls of unseen.
no holy house am I
nor am I ever-present in the room of tapping feet.
how real is day now conversation lost?
all stars are crossed
as crossed as I now turned and tossed complete!
featureless as blindfold to a scroll
the burning wood of Valentine
no longer burns it\'s whispers straight and true;