The stage cracked like an ice kiss

a goddess of ink black eggs

slithering amps and microphone cords

to the lambent ceiling

trashed by a radiant octopus

from the smashed clock's

last calling.

What hooks should I invite

from the fog?

Whose liquid spirit

to clog my rapt incisors?

Let them all bleed out

to the edges of the Earth's

brainpan, and curdle there

like a scimitar worm

to cut the sun from the sun

the totem pole spine

broken in its ornate chains

shackled to its inner light and gone.