At the manes of the spoke-turns.
The most dangerous game, hunted
For pipes and hallowed serotonin -
Crawl, fistfuls of sand, diamonds
At the masthead.
Fission, fusion, melting through the salt
Flares, sun-spot, granulation
Crepitates beneath concrete bedsheets,
Scintillates under pacified minds
Who fail to accept the estimate
Of open moorings
Left in the bay.
But I'm sane
(Throat coated with codeine dreams
Scratching to reach the surface)
Please believe me
(They're clawing at me, repousse
With flesh and gold)
Hear my voice
(I hear it, can you? Lost in
The catacombs, winding
Through past, serpentine)
Cold blood, or is that water?
Hold me. Caress me.
The child flicks the marble.
It doesn't stop rolling,
But the statue appears.
The sage and the archangel,
Venerated for wisdom
Healing crack visage.
Temples pounding
Sacrificial chants
Checking my pulse.
I am the wanderer over
My own stream, corrode
This sheath, corrode,
Dripping hands, arrows,
My only direction.
Golgotha, stems
The wingéd South
Reaps carousels from Fata Morgana.
My halbirdier marches
Stag, follow the cast.
