an uninterested archaeologist studied the bones of eight
dead citizens who had a gradually tightened their grips around our dreams, tapering
as furling curtains swathed the incoming light, swirling, forcing it into nonentity
one would steer the ill-fated course of all.
bury the hatchet that was used to hatch you
put all of your eggs into one spermicidal basket
only the heavy-handed preamble to my funeral
could weigh against such lofty comparisons
we commuted to separated isles, each with their own emulation of truth
with cathartic perspectives, trees wait to abed in your predestined lynching
placing viney nooses into mother nature's scrapbook, a cherished keepsake,
your freckled dna, an infinitesimal page in her tattered cookbook
only in an afterworld will you be allowed to read your book's foreword
know that there is no snooty producer to create for you a cash-in sequel
they all watch you from afar, hungry, salivating
failing to make a distinction between your life and demise
their story's nothing but an interminable sad ending
a null conclusion with nothing to conclude
it holds its breath, crosses its fingers
hoping again to come through
as I placed defeat to my temple and squeezed
I veered into a claustrophobic brick encasement
colored with lifelessness, detachment
and learned infinity is combustible;
an unfolding polygonal paper
forever unwrapping
I've walked with wrecked leagues
casually entered fiery caverns
and the chilling daytime before me,
never is it compelling
I resigned my mind, contemplated grave comprehensions
redid everything, coughing opuses, deftness, drugged insight
my tactics turned to taciturn. no one was conducting
the open metaphor of your eyes, rendering
internal captions. endless captive renditions
my adoration:
the thickly-caked rust in the kitchen faucet
if you catch my spotty, deposited
despot eyes in direct sunlight,
you'll realize their dimness
staring vacantly
into oncoming traffic,
looming passages
