Swift easy despair
Tempt me to the edge
A senseless swoon
Black eyes point
Back to the womb
A narrative spent-
The infant only has moments,
No breeze of story
Catches his sails.
He twists in the winds of hazard,
Careless, not free
Because freedom is owned by its opposite
As all things
Extracted from the fabric
Like time
A conception laid bare
Shown to be without foundation
We fall
But miss the ground
Hidden in plain sight
Our wisdom
We teach by suffering
The tracks that others miss
Our nature
Raw and true
Scent of blood-
The eye expands to bathe the earth
In sight
Laughing at thoughts
That speak of death and birth
The Urge that brought us here
Just below the perfume of the world,
Beyond the campfire’s borrowed light
Is sex
And older gods we dare to remember-
In wilder timeless instants
We rip the cloth of words
And worship
Our natural state
Forbidden liquids spill
On altars of porous love
Driving stakes
Through the heart of our
Former vampire selves
Desperate to be sacrificed
Made of unreality
Dipped in shame and persuasion
Convulsing, stretch themselves
And relax back into death.
Still clouds on the horizon wait
Dancing into and out of the dawn
A figure lost on the desert’s edge
Where the mountain breathes
Solidity, illusion, collision
A dark bird with two wings spread
Covers the dipping moon
All is laid bare
Yet we chase sounds of soft lips
As if they had an answer
To a question never asked.
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