no heart on hand
for evermore tarantula.
brave as wood
smoking like a snail;
long past beyond to furthermore
as cryptic spell,
mirrored by a gaslight,
reflecting both,
mood rhetoric.
prophecy of chance;
stuffed with straw,
one belly-laugh away from soil to thunder.
be gone with you
cloudless grey
patched and heaven sent.
I have no third eye to pleasure or torment;
walk tightrope with me
above the oil where swims our treasured map,
horse-drawn and quartered.
now thirteen segments
blind as honeycomb;
take me away.
from this. and this.
of this and all beside.
from mans machine to the walnut bride,
as cracked as I am stubborn.
shy as salt
pale as linen hanging from a lie;
no heart on hand;
how can this be?
too much I feel
I cannot understand;