high above Verbena
perfect blue
a bucket-full of baggage
pencil-thin
kissing wind as shapes of something else;
from this, a perfect prose
of devil-weed
drinking late
a tavern-blood
thicker than the spit of infamy;
choking on the vomit of a kiss
through a history of trees
bound by love
in an oregano shell of incarnate;
as heavy as the semen on a quill
that pumps it\'s thirteen numbers on my back
foliage free
as naked as a whisper through a crack.
no turning back
no hacking cough to hide a lullaby.
a better way to fly
hanging with the acorns
through the circus of a smile;
look close my eyes as painted in a scream
I am lost in Daubigny\'s Garden
in a suicidal dream;