a glaze of blood to polish timber
and take down the skies,
hands clasped on the disc
of an airport dining table,
zones of ordered paint
rushing sentient space,
I can't talk, I must stare
into the voidless yawn that crackles,
I must know its unforced embrace
where the parched ground heals
and wounds with wetness,
bridges cross the chasm's
multicolored light,
my delicious torment redeems
the tragedy of my elders,
I see wings in shit, the corpus
emblazoned with frauds
that have become genetic,
the stones go quiet
in their slow decay,
the water wades into me,
I am a sea invaded
by this unwelcome body,
the eye is all, the poles of vision
are making shapes from a hell
of elaborate echoes,
the sun cools on waning rye
my wallet is a folded leaf
that holds a supernatural seal,
the gash of a gone root waits
my feet are numb to finding
the sleep of mercy ends in ecstatic birth.
