Under the milk wept blood
this universe a million miles away
in trajectory through Creation
shivers of balance like cracks in ice
impenetrable, preoccupied (as at
first light) near the face, eyeless
towards the doorway opening it’s mouth
weeping, pulsating w/ insects, worms
in segments, bifurcated, the heart’s throat
so old as apples unspoiled in infinity
feeling the hum, thrumming, strumming
lions on the beach as the tongue of night
explodes, machines like elephants
naturally drained, sucked of moon & sun
unfound, convulsed, to understand
the grasp of pebbles, rain and exhausted caves
lessened from the telltale of laying waste
crushed in metal, polished over charcoal skin
reflected in the half-empty umber bottles
where last you found yourself, under torn rooftops
tar and the city, crucial as a moment longer
while waiting for the last haunted crow to come
hunted in agony and the gifts of discretion
in bones & bites & buildings as forgotten
as the unholy bells, suffering in garden wombs
the hourly battle of temptation, this amputation
of the soul we give ourselves unwittingly to,
swallowing the burned shadows w/ dirt and dust
where weeps the angels of the unbreakable incubus
in a fog for the eye and grinning danseuse
you hold your breath and cry.
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