Swift easy despair

Tempt me to the edge

A senseless swoon

Black eyes point

Back to the womb

A narrative spent-

The infant only has moments,

No breeze of story

Catches his sails.

He twists in the winds of hazard,

Careless, not free

Because freedom is owned by its opposite

As all things

Extracted from the fabric

Like time

A conception laid bare

Shown to be without foundation

We fall

But miss the ground

Hidden in plain sight

Our wisdom

We teach by suffering

The tracks that others miss

Our nature

Raw and true

Scent of blood-

The eye expands to bathe the earth

In sight

Laughing at thoughts

That speak of death and birth

The Urge that brought us here

Just below the perfume of the world,

Beyond the campfire’s borrowed light

Is sex

And older gods we dare to remember-

In wilder timeless instants

We rip the cloth of words

And worship

Our natural state

Forbidden liquids spill

On altars of porous love

Driving stakes

Through the heart of our

Former vampire selves

Desperate to be sacrificed

Made of unreality

Dipped in shame and persuasion

Convulsing, stretch themselves

And relax back into death.

Still clouds on the horizon wait

Dancing into and out of the dawn

A figure lost on the desert’s edge

Where the mountain breathes

Solidity, illusion, collision

A dark bird with two wings spread

Covers the dipping moon

All is laid bare

Yet we chase sounds of soft lips

As if they had an answer

To a question never asked.

Liked this post? Follow this blog to get more.