The cloud across my window painted early on in drops

and lets go over the edge and look into myasma you

were always struggling for air and I would slice my lungs

interbreathable pull you close embracing chests

the two of us forcing life into each other through the wounds

now both dying and living and dying again I would rather it

equal so and into the abyss together, this cloud on top

of my building we just happened to see this cold morning

now old with intentable fret, an error of the lacing we use

to carry oxygen to blood, like the hemming of a skirt, easy

tearing, dirtying, we search the cloud for purity, finding liquid, tears

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

i was walking in the central park

no one was there i passed a wolf made of l.e.d.s

i asked the wolf i asked the roots

and the space dovetailing immense trees into each other

i ask all over arborescence to which the vectors in these?

you deserve nothing says the wolf made of lights

and i only answer this in song which comes to me in bifurcated

languages, in a melody the devil conned but sold back to me

by silver-mooned magic I learned from Aunt Stormy buoyant

leaping dying knowledge, I know, I exalt, I know, I know

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the book of formedon indeed lemon squeezed into peelings

and seeds such that the world camera surda into the universe

no one can own thing A be taken by persona B calling both 

world and persona onto chopping block altogether

 

none to exist in fortunes or in delicates, not in hearts nor in

writs and sayings! calliblephary painted on with eyes shut

and we walk to temples in straight lines avoiding bendy fields

of bees and dancing wild flowers soon to be left unpollinated

 

overturned calycates, this will unwet our brushed water colors

this push performs off the top of our tripping stairs down

the deep end Calluna’s well petals, we don’t stop it, see it

with the compound eye to shed the crystalled grief Harbinger 

 

Honey tastes so bitter to warn us with

 
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