the world has spat itself inside-out
in the ******-flash of the
claim.

piercing thin tunnels of
flesh
through less-than-best-laid plans,
as if
laying itself were
virtue enough to ****
by






as the dishes
drip

in failed echo
of
the
windowsill


and
i,

glittering fangface
upon the instant spell
of


opportunistic .
encompassure .

my poor apple tree
precipitates into my red right-eye
as my saw carves tough love
out of the torn branches of
sabbath’s
storm burst

shirtless shepherd, stormsail-hopeful
scumlove galaxies above to
sail
by

the radio tower tuned in
to my
legs
pounding downward into the
grey sand:transfixed
like a static
node in  
the
flail-winged embrace

as waves
   comprise

the multitude
swarm
of
unheeded prayers shot like
fugues
out
from the center
of
observation,

this
decomposing gemstone
coast


beacon.4the.undertow

the undertow takes time to notice
as each washing pulse
whisks away
more [glamorous, radiating shoreline]



. h/e.


if we
shall remember
what has been robbed,
it may yet be        
     reclaimed

hangs rigid on its chain from the unstrained hand of the cam girl.
her
pose places iron
before
reality;

her teeth are white veneers over a sugar-ruined core.


she is the tortured priestess, hiding
in plain sight as
           a
           demon :


she, the healer shaman -
but her bones have been
    scattered                too                       far


for psychic-cartography
to reach




i, the last king of the
dead :


my lungs, full of
spit and
deadlocked breaths between these quiet actions in a
still quieter
  war


/fallen
  into the hive heart-center,
caught and drowning
in the



cistern of discontent  .

clad in wonder
beside those iron lidded eyes :
blinking open like shifting tectonics
or
rusted gears
rumbling
below us

as we ready for the
p
l
u
n
g
e
.