with a reason to
believe, with a demon as friend, with an omen as fighting, an apparition behind
her eyes.
what for the blanket,
lockets in skin, so cursed, it feels esoteric?
turned about, saw
a mirror, it leaped in, it leaped out, the maddest of women.
stuff it inside,
laugh like dying, came art five in a grave.
an arc, a slave,
at trials inside, the jury all conscienceness.
thirsty in a coma,
water in a vase, or oil in crust, fossil, bloody diamonds.
so meek, so neat,
into a beat, fell asleep.
getting back
language, like in on it, where none have proven self; beefing with sages,
shamans, swamis, looking, staring, more to live for.
much mercy in a
curse, dripping ingredients, much gravy in hock.
storehouse barns,
farm logs, remorse for sipping Cognac;
strobe audience,
filled with chaos, craving a new pair of cobras.
