Were there ever hints of fresh initiative
spotted from these grotesque hilltops?
Whether settling our eyes over dying-earth dusk
or shying from the clarity of resolute youth.
Weaving aching humours in fake rhetoric
and hypocritical grins
If I could leave behind, so behind, these ramparts fraught
in evergreen stone with wrath wronged over
words lost.
I yearn for crystallization of the limbs
as I bow before your hush and
drowned in the tumours of minor gods I profane
your name through whorehouses turned to necrophilia.
That day, I should have tattoed on your belly
the transcendence of wind over tear.
I’ve left these crumbs floating on water
so you’ll trace a map atop my grin,
a smirk detached from all the blows and gashes thrown atop inverted helter-skelter’s
in so many daily tragedies.
And you, now that I’m the sperm of innocence again,
all waters spilt in a waltz of in substance,
-try to wrongly follow the marine droppings I laid behind in that other forgotten highway.
And I, in this circle of melodic aliments, wait that you’re already here.
On top and below you.
Right and left of me.
We are binary stars,
we are the intangible
fluxus
spherick
