Monday, April 29, 2024

Lines across the moon
sweet vines feed drumming hands
steam ropes encircle gardens
where the violent seeds explode
and are accepted by the cries of a guitar
to be written on shrines and altars
tattooed on bitten flanks and throats
encoded in the wounds of planets
encrypted in the scars of every star.

Web's fragile twine
big bang of infertile highways
love's ringing blade
that conquers all our days
and is the haze of an echo
dying painter's gasps
that do all they can.

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