my unholy words, like spasms of the borrowed lungs, descend
upon the minds of these amorphous crowds.
my love, not needed, given freely, scarcely
taken often
walked upon has asked me to summon it
back and take better care in future days.
my eyes, taking the good with the bad swallowing
mountains and faces alike beg
for a different scene, but i
continue.
my shoulders lack in miniature creatures i am the only thing that symbolises both vice and virtue in my way and in my say and in the stay
of my deeds on the face of the earth.
indeed, we have walked amongst the darker crowd, my soul and i,
my darling, have we not?
and have i not taken you to saints, through corridors of light and holy rains and filled my mouth with gold and
river water?
my guts have rearranged and filled
,like the night sky,
with stars.
i
am bigger than my skin, but not in a good way. i am
less than optimal less than dust filled with rust greater
than any of you can offer.
let the sea soak me through let
the salt fill my sockets let fish replace the maggots
in my chest.
let
the salt purify me, 'cause deep down, darling, in the heart of my hearts all i want
is cleansing.
see yourself through the web that i've built with my tongue and come hither, hither, child,
in
terlace your fingers with mine and allow yourself
to be
devoured.
YOU ARE READING
cough on coffee leftovers
Poetrywhat the gas pipe gave was everything it had left after the car stopped running. mostly black smoke. some gasoline tears to evaporate from the ground. a faint smell of regret.
