Put me down to desiccate.
My mind
My body
My inveterate vision.
Fragmentary, ornamental,
desirous smiles
adorn my face
And separate once I swallow them,
where then,
they play inside my head
and disperse to deluge into fumes of
blues and violent reds
where condors convene and condone the nature of my agony,
which they burn straight on through
then train new thoughts to thirst for more.
Stuck with a mind so full of
contortionist thoughts,
containing the notions of submerging illusions, luring me away from veracity,
into anticipating rapture.