+++

unfolded by violin and wine
serrated red
oh little dead,
like your posture
teased and rounded
and yonder fingers,
calligraphic
and intentional
should we walk here,
garrison of
potential?


who loaded these words with quarantine?
who sees through, fused lid to lid?


whorl of spaces ailing as burners themselves
run the guns round the side, start
off as equals
encapsulated

eons strum the spine of earth
a chord emptied into space
a song for the cosmos:
eternally droned:

angels are really fruit bats
the lord is earthworm food & feces
roll down the hillside
double helix
roll your tongue
heaven is whale sonar
rooms are hell

"ago", something else;
the referent is young, these;
the words of youth.
working from the fist
and positioned with poisons,
hollow-immune
touch exactly nothing