make real one ending day
slightly brown, unopened.
a caress of sea on the dry land of my face
as sings my mirrors offspring
of ballads blood sprouting from the waist
two curtains wide
metaphors of settlement.
the shaking hands of life and life supreme.
monarch and the wisdom of enamel
two swords crossed; impudent and raw
lost inside the breastbone of my lies.
distracted by the mother-tongue of secondary light
prayers as mute as moon
more clumsy than an earthworm on a hook
beckons me to pastures of my new-found parody
where melts the stars
where touches fingers white as viognier
dripping from the sinus of a sin.
no strings attached
death only is as death; or so it seems
that wiles away the hours of redemption.
squatting like a python in a pond of deep regret.
an addict to the silent throws of Sparrowhawks in heat
my meat now dry enough to incarcerate in grief.
slightly brown; unopened;