Crack like little china dolls in a case of our own
Necrophiliac footsteps feeling along the shore for home
Lost, wandering eastward, as the sky slips again
Into its grimacing silk pajamas stained red.
Their hands we held for just a moment, no more-
For beside us were the warm lilacs, intrinsically ours
Casting shadows on the remains of vacant towers
Like the final (gasp) of sludge that seeps like moments from arrows.
Why forsake the sealed vibration in a glance
For colors the shade of overgrowth?
Was it you who bottled Psyche’s tears in exchange
For an ephemeral dance with angels?
By your lonesome you sleep
Below Van Gogh’s haystacks
Dreaming of awakening.
But safe you are:
Safe inside the devil’s all-encompassing hyde
Woven of silk by the spider-mother’s own eyes
Bright with the Idea
Tucked like you and me in her multifoliate lids-
Each one longing
To return to the very first error.
The way she moved upon her pedestal - a distracted
Weapon meant to conceal her imminent fate
Only justice could truly hide.
Is blood a valid excuse
For the treachery we’ve begotten as of late?
Like scuttering foxtails we willow in the background
Of train tracks, suggestive of the clouds’
Laughing eyes upon our entrenched pillowcases.
Has it been your intention to build a wall
Like the one you have inside my brain?
A cellophane restriction between the rain and her sisters.
You know what it is
To swim in the womb of the Mother’s disguise
And to mellow out on a summer’s rain, in hand
The writings of beloved Blake, from whose grave
Rises the everlasting Command.
The message states as follows like a shadow
Cradling everlasting moonlight, killers’
Intentions prevailed her stockings had a run
In them! (or it.)
In one stroke the white light finally outshone
The tempered surface of the seldom-revised Code.
But how the shadows can reflect one’s losses!
They spit ashes one by one onto rooftops sagging
Like forgotten people
Abandoned by the resentful Fates.
Weapon meant to conceal her imminent fate
Only justice could truly hide.
Is blood a valid excuse
For the treachery we’ve begotten as of late?
Like scuttering foxtails we willow in the background
Of train tracks, suggestive of the clouds’
Laughing eyes upon our entrenched pillowcases.
Has it been your intention to build a wall
Like the one you have inside my brain?
A cellophane restriction between the rain and her sisters.
You know what it is
To swim in the womb of the Mother’s disguise
And to mellow out on a summer’s rain, in hand
The writings of beloved Blake, from whose grave
Rises the everlasting Command.
The message states as follows like a shadow
Cradling everlasting moonlight, killers’
Intentions prevailed her stockings had a run
In them! (or it.)
In one stroke the white light finally outshone
The tempered surface of the seldom-revised Code.
But how the shadows can reflect one’s losses!
They spit ashes one by one onto rooftops sagging
Like forgotten people
Abandoned by the resentful Fates.