censored

on the chance
I took my thumb and gouged
whichever eye was open
far enough to see death

undone
like the wide right eye of memphis,
weeping gasoline on the gashed grounds below

obitus, obitus

uncorked, I'll spill over
do they or do they not deserve it
for leaving me ajar?

they'll lie
and they'll take it to the grave
and their headstones will call me out by name

obscure, obfuscate

that last rattle of life from their lungs
push up from under their daisies
determine me buried

obitus, obitus

the overture,
the onus

just for chance
I'll open it once more
for the dance halogen gives behind me
for the bark of tread on ballast

one eye, one good one
to discern the cause of death

my lips aren't locked so tight,
I think

and then there my tongue halts

thumbs pressed into porcelain
I only hope to leave an impression;

chock a stick in one cog
of his endlessly certain thought

he will not be wrong -
even when he has been caught

if God himself sent a whisper on my behalf
a whit of my whimpering in the night
those running thoughts might yet drown it out

a quirk of the working mind

time seems of the essence
I have to consider that he'll forget

I dig my nails in
feel them ripping from the bed

I only hope to leave a dent

but it was an imperceptible sin
a shared blemish on agnate skin

though mine grows inward
and outward and on -
like wild root,
shooting off in all sorts of directions

for him, a second obliterates
but I sleep and wake to it

my lips are loosening,
I think

only to take in breath

a forced inhale
the air of his absence
of cognizance

seems emptier

‍  
thoughts pour
spill from their borders
swarm their predestined portion

"and I make them wait."

memory crawls my throat
makes itself known on my tongue
climbs into the labyrinth of my ears
bursts through the drum

and it is gone
   ‍      ‍  
 ‍

a stones throw from freedom

so, I toss
aimless

wear down the wick,
burn into the small hours

til' the sun basks

suppose I dream in absolutes

from the ceiling, a billion petals;
rose consorting with the floor

come to smother me

the sweet balm,
that last-ditch adamance
the last scent on my breath

do I wake in a sweat
with reason to?

waking being my first misstep
walking penrose stairs

I feel it

suppose I pose more premonition
knowing what I might

a hairs breadth

so
aimless

I dream that I touch it

I keep seeing the snow
on its sideways swing
pelting, impervious, against the ground

to escape human conclusion,
conviction

without fail
it's all the same to me
I pluck the fourth leaf, before it can wither

to be a willing participant to love
I don't know

I watch it thicken from the window
a wayward swarm of whiteflies
that building, bloodless blanket outside
I don't know
it never sticks