To see through my eyes
A world, stacatto, coming fast then slow. Rhythmic
Wearing you out with love. Endearing, eager, effortless love.
Eyes glazed, reflecting the on-coming blow and the sinners stare
At impact her vision distorted by cruelty, corrects the breakage
Gluing back together by anti-gravity the mirrors pieces.
Steps retraced all things made beautiful and every sin forgiven
Repentance came too late without enough to cover the costs
Cauldrons boiling over with the bones of children and young mens visions, stirred by priests in habits chanting limericks
“It was on the good ship Venus! By Zeus you should have seen us!”
To be served in porcelain by virgins in wait of the ravish. Bloodless ritual, bumper harvest.
When it was over the only proof will be the windows
Not nearly enough but we longed for light while guarding against demons.
The stakes all part of the game, nothing here matters
We bleed acetone-dyed red spattering spittle from starch in glycerin suspension.
Longing for one single tear — without guile, devoid of intent, mediation and strategy. Pure. Madness.
Your rook, my pawn, both queens — no tomorrow or yesterday, order overthrown to cheers and insults!
An indeterminate present, like Schrodingers penis. Mostly in, rarely out.
Range of motion confined between clock ticks. Klack . . . Klack . . . Klack!
Loop the sequence, space vacated and re-purposed. All that lives slithers to it’s end. Sheets wet in youth now hang brittle-dry to the touch. Her smile has no trace of regret.
No hunger like that of the unforgiven, no thirst like the forgottens. His, not vengeance but a reckoning. Violence finding her one justification.
An accounting of how much is owed, how much stands to be forgiven.
Everything weathered by percolation, even the marbles fertility reaffirmed by dew-ladden blades, redolent with life! Time!
If we ever saw us, we’d be enough to scorn our fear and despise the shame
Pack your bags and head on home! The Master cancelled all debts!
The devil is a prop for water to flow downhill into the Arabah
Laboratories from lakes, seizures firing across space and time and birthing consciousness
The universe also bears its cross, laboring to this one end: Human touch!
Glad tidings to the poor, this day are ye born free!