A Paragraph of Sadness

a paragraph of sadness

on paper thin as rice of zero cause.

molehill of physalis for the birthday bride

now slowly slants her eyes confetti deep

to the valley of her spleen 

through candle's light of liquid 

to the scalp of Old Trafalger

with a beetles pride on a foam of satin sea;

 

all flame of flesh 

no words of gentle men from the stinging bone.

her christ one piece of metal on a tongue.

surrogate thoughts of rhyming slang and elm.

 

food to mouth on a cloth of scrim

a plague as blunt as oranges

on a whims capricious notion of desire.

 

now bleeds her tattoo'd heart of Rembrandt's love.

(his denial of st peter)

once death has gone

where else her soul to shine and rise above?