Tuesday, September 17, 2013


I will furrow your insides with heat

for the dawning, it will be petal'd

I will be present in the present like a bird
rejoining its flock's lettered sky, present
at your squirming altar

I will take the decorative wound
out of the air to place
on your cool forehead
the emptiest kisses
the open territory
your voice and wandering agent

coming home from the kill of the engine
to be bathed in all the thoughts that the lights missed
hurt vegetable skins on the sidelines
strangely in their watching and being mute

and lost in the leftovers of the cavassed landscape
of a whinny that dies in the throat
and a wind of thought fucking
and a cemetary bench outlined with bodily vapors
the condensation of flesh on marble catching stars.

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