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I

Our ****** dreams, all seedless in the light,
Of light and love the tempers of the heart,
Whack their boys' limbs,
And, winding-footed in their shawl and sheet,
Groom the dark brides, the widows of the night
Fold in their arms.

The shades of girls, all flavoured from their shrouds,
When sunlight goes are sundered from the worm,
The bones of men, the broken in their beds,
By midnight pulleys that unhouse the tomb.

II

In this our age the gunman and his moll
Two one-dimensional ghosts, love on a reel,
Strange to our solid eye,
And speak their midnight nothings as they swell;
When cameras shut they hurry to their hole
down in the yard of day.

They dance between their arclamps and our skull,
Impose their shots, showing the nights away;
We watch the show of shadows kiss or ****
Flavoured of celluloid give love the lie.

III

Which is the world? Of our two sleepings, which
Shall fall awake when cures and their itch
Raise up this red-eyed earth?
Pack off the shapes of daylight and their starch,
The sunny gentlemen, the Welshing rich,
Or drive the night-geared forth.

The photograph is married to the eye,
Grafts on its bride one-sided skins of truth;
The dream has ****** the sleeper of his faith
That shrouded men might marrow as they fly.

IV

This is the world; the lying likeness of
Our strips of stuff that tatter as we move
Loving and being loth;
The dream that kicks the buried from their sack
And lets their trash be honoured as the quick.
This is the world. Have faith.

For we shall be a shouter like the ****,
Blowing the old dead back; our shots shall smack
The image from the plates;
And we shall be fit fellows for a life,
And who remains shall flower as they love,
Praise to our faring hearts.
PK Wakefield Oct 2014
all love
through
the crisply murdered toto
of uncouth faces


    (FALL)   i want to sing




inside you once again

each crimson bending
of vein

the accidental flower
of my hips

some death living
more hotly lathered

in young stupid
lovely dumb lips,

(noth shaping)


unelected silence
that sings to me:


i might feel O'
your primrose hands,


whose palate
,in plushy sward,
cannot house

or unhouse

               the lord,.
                             '
                                ,
                           '


                                    ,


                     '                  
                                                  '




                                   ;




                                    .
Lilith May 2020
I want to unhouse this body,
tear up the floorboards of my flesh,
Allow the blood to seep out into the earth.
To break down to moss might be the most merciful thing I could do to
this prison of permanence that keeps me
above ground.

I am contamination,
I am illness housed in bone
slicing this skin to let the sickness seep out
to let the blood sink into the dirt
to return my borrowed body to the depths.
I never asked to be trapped
tied down in muscle and fat.
I am more corpse than corporeal
so bury me where I belong.

I have only felt joy while holding my breath.
The high of being denied oxygen makes me feel closer to you.
I crave your cold hands wrapping around my throat
ripping this skin open
letting me fall to pieces amongst the flowers.
At least the winds will whistle my name when I'm gone,
the sweet tune of the trees
soaking me in through their roots.

If I was not happy above the dirt,
let me fill these lungs with the funeral of the earth,
the carrion will make use of these remnants of skin
and I will be content to be cloaked and crowned in this castle of soil
below
CW: Implications of self harm
[48] 42.7 "as we both were in paradise, inseparable from one another
[48] 42.8 do not separate us in our death, but place me where you have placed him"

And death shall not separate us.
In shivering youth bowed our hungry love
Enclasped our praying hands through the cold nights;
These pulsing memories far bygone, yet
If sundered, if you lost to one a myriad of stars in the universe,
Across all fateful turbulations and tribulations I'll sail and toil my hankering hands,
To collect your stardust, to bring you back
Then I'll embrace you in great haste; to unhouse thy shroud I raced
To deck thy tombstone unturned
And death shall not separate us

And death shall not separate us
Flowers wave within the giant skeletons embracing one another
A sword into the earth, his armor kneeling, and recitations of verses
By the campfire; under the comets; on the high seas, the man stays silent
The broken knight carries his tired soul and his gothic wings;
Battle never ends, so does his love poetic-prophetic
And death shall not separate us

And death shall not separate us
(O, I am a sufferable rebel, a dying romantist)
Natality mine sinful and bandaged for thy fright
My unchanted dirge for the bohemian innocence and long deployment;
Yet I proclaim nevertheless and claim thy name nonetheless, for
I am a lover of absurdity, a prince of resistance
A phase I need to face with high magnificent disdain;
Between solitude and solicitude, my bilious rage contained
If engulfs thy way a dusking vale of Time
Break branches and hear my echoes of love through and through, my lime
And death shall not separate us

And death shall not separate us
That a timber hitch roped around the mooring stump by the shore
Flares me heavy thy flair philosophy declare on frontière, your fair solitaire
Times foretold the cascades in the cave loud, bold, n' manifold
So, princes of the world! Test my decree: love never fails
Like Adam and Eve
Oceans of Dantesque hands pulling us apart,
but we must beat our oars forward
because death shall not separate us
Dedicated to my love, Jueun Suh

— The End —