purple vines encasing the old fortress
where stones become reptilian crawlers
gardens gash order with order
liquid walls are open to the sky
in courtyards where the sight of extra stars
blooms backbrain on an air plateau
I'm a torn goner
under the many skins I have worn out
this hand grenade heart is ready
beauties glide bars of frozen light
to my hands that are shackled
to their willing strings
I sing what the sirens give me
bronze arrows ejaculate wombs
palm trees with metal tentacles
the skull is a symbol of consciousness
no longer taking part
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