i revel in the sweet mistrust
citrus blossoms swell with fragrance
spring is here so let’s be vagrant
accepting emptiness as it is
victimless the misty hues
streets of water
streets of wine
streets of blue and streets of time
signal to me
and i’ll signal to you
nod your head and i’ll nod mine too

dress in black
and cast your shadow
i’ll catch your arrows as they fall from wombs
burning on thrones of dollar bills
throes of hunger and throes of woe
sewn into hands upon your mantle
all are lit except the candles
self portraits frozen in stillness
spill the whiskey on the miller’s witness

burn the bread that you are baking
in life’s funeral parlor
my hands are quaking
shaking
and taking their fill
of flour, water, yeast and rye
and pouring it all into copper pots
her stockings rip and tear on rocks
i hold steady
to her fading
truth be told i am waiting
as ugliness
breathes
dread into this bread
threads of laughter
in my head

respect
your elders
take your shelter
unclench your fists
stay open to the mornings drunkenness
please
seethe with silent ease
and glide upon the flesh of earth
her skin your memory retains
the taste of flesh the scent of breath
the scene was tantalizing

her story is a bride’s tale
sung by the orphans in the fields
growing juicy berries
her face is covered in their stains
i abstain from feeling freely

is the longing for goodness shameful
then please embarrass me with your kisses
embrace me with your quickness
madness is merely darkness retrograding
your eyes are blades of grass on hillsides
upon mountains and dark caverns
socks worn down by iron ore
treasures sunken in your lips
i see heroes and villains all too quickly
turning into children
burning like ****** in Vietnamese
forests
your studs and your mares
with dollops of hair
whipped cream frosting and strawberry tarts
eclairs are bought on parisian streets
lanes of fire
are blinding heat

your time is now
so read the words of the Niscean sect
and accept the prophets that have been neglected
really open
really feel
that this opening is real
her apple peels are earrings
cored like her feelings
stolen from the ceilings of gardens and queens