trick

1

whispers of undoing . . .

the atmospheres have whittled down your hours to their knobs
while i auscultate against your breast
to listen for Omega.
  
you are some Lethean angel
wingless, bloodied and cadmium coloured
mired with filthy tongue and blessed
with wind-up theories  
of foreign origins;

for you don't come from hollow bones
alone.

i see the flourish of your hopes, and mine, a crushing multitude
we spend into the scarcity
with phantom lives we'd live and die
and live again.

forgetting i remade myself, i reach for infant memories
and so they spider off the lines
that chase behind their nullity; a fire, a grave in all dimensions;

dead and gone
in this one.

if only you could breed away
this mortal bent
madly rebirthing a race from your sepals
'till the moon was full pitch

spilling of your white.

will you catch up in the night on astral limbs
ambiguated eyes in chime-less wind
frozen
in hopeless permanence?

but we yearn to move and to undress
the arc from its stratus;
we unearth a form of precious cataclysms
and melt them into moments, and then to ash
the end of roads.

when dirt turns feathers at your feet
when your gravitons scatter like children at a playground
will you float in their absence
on kite-ridden ripples?

will you stand tall again
to belong
to be loved?

but even as i remember the treble of this ruse
i find i'm still a beggar; please
survive the treachery
of this planet
and return to your womb, to the burning breath
that cradles your plasma, your molten space

where you have been free of your withering
mollusk.

2

but am i so unwise?
does an ancient grey cell still enslave me?

it seethes like a flower which is trampled by faith
in an infinite Spring; who has wrought such a satyr?

and light has been tricked
into being
you.