dusk
.
.
.
and the
hills exorcise a succubus
the eagle sitting at the round table
is tired of shadows

and mere me mortal
are your sister, lover, mother and the fool
telling
tales

the lippy tear licking succubus
spreads
her jaw
down into a quick release deceive

the eagle
flowers into a soar
whaled-jaw filled with hunting shadows

and
we all know concrete and hands expiring

the precious
exodus and return
the grow up mantra
when beauty is full and death is far

the
power womb
to renounce and rejoice

my
heart is not right
my mind
is finger spilled contradiction
my senses
entertain darkness
my purpose
is to marry the wretch to the fragrant

no vanity

conflict
knocks…