the last dark day
tomorrow now more flicker than a flame
on a silent edge of nowhere
a pancreas for the button of a fly.
it is now this world untangles in a stream.
no water-bed for the high arch of a foot
walking through the hydra of incontinence and mist.
and it cannot hiss
it cannot crawl through the dead mouth of a mole.
picking petals from the cancer of the sun
from where came the barnyard owls of cornish blue.
too many pieces glued as one supreme
black peppercorn alone as still unseen.
it is here I stand with my onion brain attatched
to the fallen rock with my fingers on it\'s back.
there are too many cracks from where dark soldiers crawl.
I have counted seven hours
still my blood flies higher than a crow
to a land of snow where the ice-trees glint and glow.
doubled-up with the pains of a plain-white pearl
with lungs that breathe a coal-mines dust
in a manic state with a bridal-gown
stuffed with straw, hanging like a fig.
it is time for tea and biscuits.
now I can see the naked legs of a Sunday tide
walking through this last dark day
with a sparkle in it\'s eyes;