Of All I Cannot See

of all I cannot see.

the saint that sucks it's poison from my spine

the tree that snakes it's finger to the fern;

two worlds as blind as blood

now heaven turns and burns the waters dry.

outside to in

soon crucifix sets free it's book

to live one sentence more.

with scallops head,

as bright as crawling glow worms in my skull

sings bright the sound of Sunday for a pound;

 

of all I cannot spend.

time alone with Ares deep in prayer

drifting merry widows spiders nest

where healing hands turn daffodil 

march southbound on the petals of a plague.

inside to out

green man from head to lung.

hells hung and quartered moon

climbs weary up the flesh side of the sun.

 drooling ice spits suns shine on an itch

questions not the swollen glands of menopause;

 

of all I cannot be.

so ends so shall begin this bitter feud.

me and them.

them and these

these healing hands of straw

with heaving gut in a half way house.

between the mother and the sum

I die alone.

my ghost gives up it's dead