in his mouth,
gives the
sun its violent luster ──He who
marks the blistered streets of December
in his eyes & births the new snow's
wonderment ──He stirs up windows, dusty floors,
calls to bones a grip of
voiceless somewhere ──He evaporates
on weathered skin, calls to it a sheath
of longing
***
marks the blistered streets of December
in his eyes & births the new snow's
wonderment ──He stirs up windows, dusty floors,
calls to bones a grip of
voiceless somewhere ──He evaporates
on weathered skin, calls to it a sheath
of longing
***
& now it is Summer again
& now the navel yearns for spit
& now the navel yearns for spit
He
reflects the New World with corruptless eyes
& moves onto a canvas made of moonlit starvation
& moves onto a canvas made of moonlit starvation
believing this
desolate island
is a smaller town
much smaller
than pores
or his
lover's hands
full of gravity, little grains
wrapped in womb
of finality
full of gravity, little grains
wrapped in womb
of finality
