I smell stinkbugs and sulfur

in the southern wind

I smell lavender and lilac

and delicious sin

snakes of light fill up my ears

and slither in my bones

the archways groan

with interdimensional heat

near the pit of my last awakening

big doors flick like tongues

the metal of consciousness creaks

blood pounds in diamond chandeliers

the rind of my fruitful life

is black and bright

facing angelic swords

I beat heaven down

to a pot and pan campfire

and simmer with a red eyed woman

lazily transcending all computed spheres

and scarred cliff faces

drifting with bird shapes of mercury

deliberately down a dead end tunnel

with the last draft of rejected script

in the garden of my hands

and the garden of my ribs

fond gash where my liver speaks

with a gesture like lava.