One innocent spring your voice meant to me less than tires turning on a distant street. Your name, perhaps spoken,

Her arms semaphore fat triangles, Pudgy hands bunched on layered hip… Where bones idle under years of fa… And lima beans. Her jowls shiver in accusation

She came home running back to the mothering blackness deep in the smothering blackness white tears icicle gold plains of… She came home running

You drink a bitter draught. I sip the tears your eyes fight to… A cup of lees, of henbane steeped… Your breast is hot, Your anger black and cold,

Curtains forcing their will against the wind, children sleep, exchanging dreams with seraphim. The city

Tears The crystal rags Viscous tatters Of a worn-through soul Moans

I keep on drying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,

Your smile, delicate rumor of peace. Deafening revolutions nestle in th… cleavage of your breasts

There is no warning rattle at the… nor heavy feet to stomp the foyer… Safe in the dark prison, I know t… light slides over the fingered work of a toothless

Beloveds, now we know that we know… Without notice, our dear love can… In the instant that Michael is go… Though we are many, each of us is… Only when we confess our confusion…

A free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing

A last love, proper in conclusion, should snip the wings forbidding further flight. But I, now,

Your skin like dawn Mine like musk One paints the beginning of a certain end. The other, the end of a

I keep on dying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,

When love is a shimmering curtain Before a door of chance That leads to a world in question Wherein the macabrous dance Of bones that rattle in silence