Thursday, February 27, 2014


The form's silhouette,
 and the magic nature of dissolving
 which we crave and surrender
 to grey light, to waking
the molten black, the cooled figure

a huge cat, looming on floorboards,
 chest-bones rippled by outward light
fails to recline on my horrible memory;
 a hangover, a woman

puts me at the terrible crest of my illusion
 and it sticks to nothing, then riots
within everything that is barren,
 parsed out by inexorable sadness

the total terror of white afternoons
 where nobody is watching
  with eyes, with eyes that have broken totally

 and to see

1 comment:

Iulia Flame said...