I am a golem
Made of black
Glass.

I'm absorbing
Colours
And there's no thank-you-
From me--


There never will be.

As I'm civil speaking
With no words
Or tongue.

To be just fracturing slightly,
Speaking without speaking.

My tears are--
Narcoleptic diagonals
Collapsing forward-

Motion into neurons-
Bound-by-arteries
Instead of gravity.

They find construct,
By fluorine cyclamen
And wildebeest chantries.

But to understand
Is-bygone-remorse
Made of much more
Than clovers stitches.

Needling skin into bone.
Thoughts from flesh.

Hi--



I've been black everest-
Shivering with white--
Finger-bite numb.

My esophagus is
Riddled with insomniac
Razor blade letters.

Scratching just beneath the skin.
Yet as each one is-slowly-swallowed,
I blank out.

Trickling inside I
Speak parcel-tongue-
Feelings as occasionally
I bleed melancholy--
Hidden amongst songs.

--And I know the
Tears are lying to me,
Too us with sadness.