Sleeping with a full head
i get to wake-up down, and just drone.
The harmonies that gather my teeth
to the bit... are wild melodies that insist
you never loved me enough
to see Us through It.

Down where it counts
It amounts to nothing but a negative wish.
A sublime rendition of a fresh Hell
and a golden carp to haggle with.
The Herrings are red
but the sutures are no ordinary surgeon's hook.
we lace our wings to the bleak grief
of impending kisses
and have our way
with the phantoms
of gross
inertia.

Long Live The Thing !

We recoup our loss by estranging
the legacy of our near miss
from the intimate lull of our unbehaved
conspiracies.
we join the hunt but rest in fell trees
as our foxes run.... and gather what moss
may lay upon such cold
Suns,

We are the first among equals
that divest from a whole sum.

we are the last to be anointed happy
in the sad .

and enjoy none.