Spine me Spleen

I trace seeking sleep
Hard too when you’re not next to me
I am beggining to remember

The differences between browns and reds
The monks carving my wrists to darken
Their identical garments
Shading what I am known for

Blurring the deformities
Mouth wide-furies
Swallowing the terrible pride
The heads carving wood

Unlocking the flowers behind glass
The scienced soil accelerating their growth
I can finally draw this now

Emptying hospitals cured
Domes breasting humanities
Where colors joyfully surrender themselves to be used

Narratives

Forget the low ceilinged rooms
The writers you despise
The Christ in your footnotes
Reciting the teethed attention
The hero
The patriot
The priest
Underneath the poets
Whose
Words
Wind
Blind
The
Real
Worship
Within

Define Your Blue

The air of love now visible
It walks twinned on one stem
Where women heal-shawl the mourners
The restlessness in man
The cellars of their death
Scalps whose fever confuses desire with need
Hungry pressed against wombs

So if you ever weep alone in blue
Feather arrow your blood to beak
Reversing the flapped hearts
It’s tattered age connecting dots
Between the language that draws all lines

I Write

Day after day
Where reefs love loudly
Comprehending it’s wilderness
With a firelight that brass writes the sun
The cool focused passion
Clean of fear and superstitions
Lost in it’s private island
Where the words written never become less true