he inhabits the tenuous dead space where

ampersands float beyond blinking spots of

daylight, lost in whorls of third eye blindness.

 

he is blasted new from fractious nerve

endings that shoot a thousand tiny deaths

through elements, through cosmic notes

lifted from the songbook of infinite night.

 

he whispers barbs like crude missiles tipped

with toxicities, hemlock drips

                                   drips from open wounds

sutures torn, clawed by the talon of the great eagle

now festering, wings clipped by heated blade.

 

he spits crude ganglion, tumours malignant and

caustic, self imposed loneliness, not self imposed

not self imposed

not self imposed

not self imposed

 

he is right

he is wrong

he fills veins with mercury, boils bones in hessian

sacks, sucks marrow from a straw, shifts and shimmers

until dawn.

 

he is bested by spears of laughter, hope forms

swords and shields in bright light no shadows

                                                                  

                                                no shadows here

 

then smiles and love and smiles and love and smiles

and love

 

he sinks his emerald claws into my neck

 

and love

and love

and love.