Asunder—torn apart, a snake in its
cave; heated temperature, longer
weather, frost bitten warmth. Faculties bled
of living, remorse like a hound, an
epiphany, a dream to have adored
invisibility. Saltwater
gators, arising in screams, bathed and
battling mud; slanted in appeal,
undercurrent in angelica, made
into mystic fury. Fruitage awareness,
discernment for Ignatius, the darkness
of Saint Paul. Asked to exist, better to
live, sullen excitement, aching art for
her mercy—those small hallways, walls speaking
gibberish, ceilings dripping honey … if
and only if.
A festoon covered in dust
and dirt—my inheritance; those cult eyes,
holding locks, pads, and distance. To outsoar
me, a riot inside, the trumpet shall
blast asunder. A soul will flit, a soul
will smelt its body, with dolor a
trophy for poets. The dusky
crucible—gloss and paint, dialogue
and linchpins, what therapists see!
