II. alpenglow

hushed white
first snow's plush
duvet

inimitable beauty
euphoria
in the florid incandescence
infinitely faceted fractals
a conflagration:
fire on the mountaintop,
oh, these halos in the umbra—
roving alpenglow

paper birch
trembling aspen
bent by sheer roiling passion
into a piazza passageway
leading to Our
cloistered
crystal
kingdom
come

an icy, sharp chemical-like hint
of taste lingers
at the back of my throat
a steady stream of
tears cascading down
my face

i lie on the fallen down,
a snowy duvet under a yielding sun
that gifts the little light and warmth it can

crackling paris green
and steaming water
She does not watch us here

Our breath is one and the same
why are your hands so cold?
You whisper
my beloved philtatos,
they are but a mark
of the rites of passage we endured
and a youth idealized

understand
that i am a worn letter lost
burnished ink that once clung
to a burnished nib
on deckle-edge ecru paper
embossed with gold and filigree
do you dare to open me?

VII. mitosis

i...
i love him
and i will pay with fire and brimstone
maybe i’ll realize
that the plot arc of my life
doesn’t really make any sense anymore
that i don’t know where i’m going
(i never really did)
and i’m falling i’m ******* falling

the potter's wheel lays in disuse
the clay has cracked
much like ourselves
crazed in the heat of our crucible
the teacups are but shards
and no golden lacquer remains
to mend, to smooth sharp edges

we cherish things until
we can replace them

"fragile, handle with care"
i didn’t test in an inconspicuous spot
i didn’t reset to factory default
i didn’t come assembled
but i didn’t come broken either

we were dealt the cards before
we even knew we were players

and i cry for innocence had,
and innocence lost
innocence misplaced,
and innocence taken

my nightmares lathered
in sterile surgeon cyan
after all, we lobotomized machines
could never feel

what pleasures lie,
in those frosty windowed wards!
arched backs, bucked hips
gossamer cauls of flesh unwillingly broken
bulimic hearts, skinny love
i need not drink but the viscous
milken nectar of our lust
what pleasure, achilles!
what pleasure?

what pleasure is there in
the supplication of sutured flesh?
iphigenia, astynome...briseis—
flesh blemished, removed, replaced
housing haunted souls

heracles, phaethon, oedipus, icarus...
are we too consigned to eternal song,
that bitter deathless death,
like our tragic forbearers?
our glory, our hamartia
lies only in our love, philtatos

when wisdom brings no profit
to be wise is to suffer

the proud will be humbled
and the humble will be exalted

quell your arrogance
mitotic spindle

my name means glory to the father
and i am the prodigal son

all is equal in the chaotic omniscience
of mitosis, of death, of entropy, of war

we? we are indivisible.