A grave nightmare patchworks my teardrops;
scents of atomic lullabies,
and seventh tries,
those righteous lies
which say I will breathe ’til my heart stops.
I dance in laurels and nudity,
at their brutal, unworldly birth,
sedate with mirth,
a solemn earth,
hovers above and below me.
I touch down on an unholy moon,
amid a vast cornfield to cook,
with the wrong book,
cast a pale look:
the sky is nothing but a spoon
I walk a stuttering, woodland path,
all poached in the emptiest ache,
a bitter quake,
let the trees take
out on me their revenge and their wrath.
Here I cling to the nightmare like wind,
slipping it through salty fingers;
how it lingers,
’til the singers
exalt all that ought to offend.
I starve under bright, stained-glass windows,
my feet on a Seraphim’s nose,
a sultry pose,
a headless rose,
bells ring, but the door remains closed.
Alight with me onto a tower,
follow my corset down the stairs,
war with me there,
in awe of resurrection power.
Then we will swim fast through the river,
all spraying giggles in a splash,
a soaking dash,
a weightless thrash,
playmates like unforeseen shivers.
Crab queenly reclines there, astride
the scales of brave Fish, those clear eyes,
they wave goodbyes,
in cold surprise;
my heart pled for mercy, but died.