Hanging Lines

hanging lines.

Hemmingway staccato.

blind to music

malignant

ill-prepared;

beneath the crawl

twisting grass of hyacinth

knots seasons fiddles

scurrying like blood;

pregnant with the plague

that rapes the cyclones circle of the moon;

by hells own hand

came buttermilk

dripping from the torso of a tongue

elite and censored

pasteurized

embalming fruits from the streets of Babylon;

mild mannered meek

is this my final year?

boned-marrow sketches leaves between my eyes.

I have served your wishes well

bled freely from your kisses on my wrist.

but sleep I crave

as slave to dreams as black as devils-stout;

cut me out of paper

parcel me as sinus and a sneeze

now terror and the squeeze of deaths delight

lights my way

cold irons bound

as Dylan in decay;

placebo kind

Monet in a fountain 

cactus blood 

floods my mind one second at a time.

blind as love

mercurial as tin;

one day I'll paint my masterpiece

promiscuous and thin;