Bereft of spawning, cleaving to webs,
begging not to become lunch; calling skies, dialing gods, worrying divinity is
human—sleeper sharks, intense underbellies, opalescent attraction—to have
croaked in pains, one kiss to live,
bereft of spawning.
The gap between us, by its backfire,
a soul needs an airbag, by chance to survive: adoring sight seen, asking for a
nimbus, confining Love to chains.
Torque and horsepower, cylinders and
passion, to again give mercy, reading life, its novel, broken intimacy, chafe
inside.
Animals of the region, many marionettes,
paying homage to the greatest fantoccini—designed, Byzantine, listening to
stars, eating sunshine, bathing in the moon.
Most would perish, kneeling at a
parish, defined by dear absence—so naïve at moments.
To reclaim needing art, the nexus is
human, by reflection to again giving mercy; aching where she sings, fashioning
the epistemic, debating deontology—as a soul thinks, as a soul becomes, much a
war inside, forbidding the deep neglect.
