The old man has drowned the young girl
We love to pick up handfuls of her
The seagulls are the face of the moon and
lying waters. I row onwards into deserted
waters. This death may not mean a thing
But it still shrieks red with cries
The wind walks into the world mournful
of the ignorant way it took bending on me
in particular,
Swallow another in this
otherworldly river
I am becoming another
Who is that man in black?
God of shades, dark temper
These crying children need
protection from the eyes so much
Death is full of these swollen fingers
Smile at me alive. I disappoint them,
the fatal blow with a photograph of
you laughing in your Victorian dress
In the black and silence
they drag the seas for dark
crimes that very day she died,
The world under water had
all her love. The light lies like
sleep too wet to feel the water
Touching what is wrong
I watch the gods and the sky
for a cold angel rising day after day
We shall awaken to what is ours
The eye in our stars, a warmth in not
remembering anything at all
Utterly empty, pure and free of you
A miracle said The Coroner: She
was eaten alive like the air!
Something safer than death at the row
of headstones. The world drinks you
in when the rain begins again
Gaunt shadows
silently
move
fettered mute
cadaverous
and deaf
to the world
Neophyte mumbling
sibylline thoughts
trammelled
in narcotic calm
bilious
and
short of breath
Slender coil
of
burning sutra
warm wispy smoke
pirouettes
ascent
licking life
into
smouldering ash
Calligraphy of sutured corpse
reflected in the wind
shroud of soft damp
cobwebs
embossed behind closed eyes
awaits the benediction
of time
Semiotic scrawl
in
early dawn
static catatonia
carved from the ether
of
screaming silence
no morsel of doubt
left to reside
A prism of refracted light
dovetails to reveal
spectrum
of
lambert transparency
cascading shards
slowly dissolved
in the rattle
of death's
last
breath
