angels brought home
wired to some memory.
the sea tethers itself
to the wakefulness of beds
as the blue head of
melancholia peers through
derelict foam.
i will bathe myself
frayed into
these waters
and emerge
the victor -
as many a name lay defeated,
stony and silent, pale and white
with forget.
what i came for here
  has already elapsed
  as sleep only is the many pages
  of slumber underneath a somnolent
  done of some peril. untouched
  as a sterile book.

no man figures saints.

   i lift my glass and drank
   as the erected monuments of
   some fallible memory pendulum
   and then topple like oblivion
   in a glass case.

   we defer significantly waning
   luxuries of time-keeping
   as we both pinnacle through
   the mountains and shout
   names unwilling to have faces,
   eyes, liaisons without warning
   and then FALL. CRASH. Break.
   now, habitual clock-arm meshwork
   slurs a tell-tale forgetfulness.
   i am now accompanied by the
   music and we dance in separate
   stages - a standstill in
   imperfectly drawn sidereal
   circles.