make real one ending day

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;