betrothed to a moth symphony

Betrothed to a moth symphony, I only had eyes for cremation,

you knew after, but first tell me,

I love you, even with your poison eye,
I love you, even with your siberian head,
I love you, even with your snake charmer trance, your dances of banishment, negotiating windblown earthworm heart with cystic comrehension. Inviting bermuda gestation only to beg. Caved abdominal hearth. I love you in your misplaced desert, shining reconciliation, thoroughbred dismantlement, bleating siren anticipation.

like starlight

Somewhere in my room. Round pretender. Corpuscular blizzard rhyme. Glowing through my bed. Moth procession, upward hatching jungle myth. I am the echoing hall.

carrier scalp

Who rings with no answer or call. Keeps to the morning softness. The turning soup of joints and bones. Their undulations hang in the air waiting to be touched.

endless

Has no name. No role in my day, no location in my domain, no way to find the dark liquid stream.

dim glow

My hearts a different shape.

candle flame

Maze of residual masks worrying about the future. Bits under the comet pierced with turning heads. Tales whispered with a digital eye. Dragged venus tooth through the night. Sorting the vultured switches with desperate amulets. I told you, the scratch is an oceans reflection for you gaseous impermeable brimstone mantle ragged hollow flash. God is the vacuum seal on times memory stick.
ashamed
Loosened dusk breaker in the inks survival limit. All the mornings come like this. Striking the micro organism suspension stitch with white languid sea bowl rice wandering welcome. Only the glow doubles itself for a narrow dew spilt curiosity. The laughter nucleus of an old womans’ crow flown walk and her railroad childrens’ satellite faces.
awkward

Turn, I get an hour for lunch. Turn, I get an hour when I get home. Turn, I get an hour before dawn. Turn, I get an hour between the time I’m dividing out that decimal and watching out for that root. Lucky me. If I add water I get the drunk brushwheel glass ringed monster. If I add soap I get the spasmodic erie frozen deported sand clockwork bruise. If I add enough time I’ll forget all about it. My honey comb reflex circuit. Stream line the quicksilver through the turnover of singing memories that greet every dancing record. Outside, secret fingers blow pinctonic torrefickla glimmer in dust flake stillness. Bright day leave the lights on. Dark night dim the power station. All the missing links come together in a story.

skipping trance

Through concave wizardry projections. Buried skeleton bones in the geletin puzzle. Grinds bucket fulls of robe excavated shadows. Weeping orifice contraption spiderweb.

c a n d l e l i g h t

Those withered hands not quite folded up into human form. Secret delicacy of less than one eye curdles great tablets for wiping my brow. Because the Dalai Lama wriggles in his dandelion afternoon camphor ignition, iodide radar winged signature. I like to pick the grey scabs off my eyeballs. Owl delight signifying the end of swag trails, strings and limits, in a ceaseless universe and my unrecognizeable sleep. The race of hurricanes in silk running boots. The beast through my available arteries and veins. The thin line between my eyelids, another seam in the sewing machines breakfast palpatations.

thank you