hundreds of scrolls of poems leave my lips,
but to read is to surrender,
thus the song plays on.

Treachery is unbecoming,
fateless without grace,
my betrayal becomes itself,
loses itself within my space.

I begin to carbon date myself,
but surrounding stone cold hearts have no charity,
comparison of the self, to see if I have expired,
it lacks vital sanctity.

Thus, I pray to the moon,
when sky shelters pitched night alone,
the nameless hear my croons,
but their humanity does postpone.

IF there were a child,
small and speckled,
like a fallen star,
wrapped in the skin of an angel.

THERE are questions echoed,
bouncing off the walls,
a song in tune to melancholy,
driven by their high pitched naivety.

WERE it to ask me,
about the fullness of the house,
the converse of myself,
the paper thin skin.

A response comes from ether,
it flows from deceit and devilish nature,
I feel the lie fall like outward breath,
so easy, yet growing more burdensome.

CHILD has no name,
for we do not label innocence itself,
it would be insanity,
and I would surely die before...

The muscles ache,
or it may be bones now,
and I am but a host,
for their pulsing complaints.

Today the motion will never cease,
I am the brain within the body,
and the world cannot be silent presses,
or it will rot away.

****** out arms,
like the conductor of a grandiose majestic orchestra,
fingers sooted,
as if lisps of coal had swept into the cracks of a smile,
and what belies the truth,
O sonnet of beloved decibels,
do cry and masticate from the heavens above,
O roar me with your shaking lungs,
crescent moons of red blood - eyes but a shimmer,

do corral your final motion,
blackest pledge for harrowed heroine,
the soul lives on.

This is where I am,
the music thrums like a heartbeat,
sudden brilliance spills from flickering rectangles,
my fingers beckon me further through the pipes.

There it sits,
a single rectangle,
the black letters blare out,
a decision of fate,
hell sings me closer,
I let my eyes gaze,

let me see
let me be

Not even a letter,
less than,
less than a breath,
a zip of light upon flickering boxes,
yet holds control over the push and pull of my tides,
I am but a slave to this unenveloped call

read on.

untasted words leave the lips of the mercury man,
he is slim and sublime,
attenuated to the bridge of his nose,
but his trunk is thick and sturdy

he holds impermeability,
is too still and stubborn for lovers,

mercury man slips through my fingers,
but danger remains.