The night shapes that guide the stars
The night shapes that guide the stars
Plucked from proper align
Ground up into dust; inhaled
Breathing light and warmth into us
The crow perches upon veins
Time incarnate is a owl-wise
Teacher; skin falling like cedars
In that barren winter floor
Wind whispering amongst the trunks
A dark gardener slithers powerful
All dirt obeys his midnight-prowess
His flower-cycle turned red
Burrowing into his knife passion
He howls the minerals into drive
Moving the ignorant rocks
To succession; the iron kingdom
Has woke up feverish
Time has revived all that roams
If it fly, spy, or cry
It has blood flowing
Gushing like silences
From the golden mouth piece
Hair wrapping eternal
Choking nerve endings that scream
Among the slow dripping of snow
Ears sprawled among the gutters
That religion a line tracing
Roses withering in a desert
Gasp at the grass of its thought
Tonight the dew oozes from my heels
I gift it to you
Adorned in red and blues
Laurel wreaths with rabies
Barking dead arteries with a kiss
My body drowned in sheets
Swallowed whole in sweet absence
I smell the sulphur in my eyes
A sacrifice to the gods
Burning the pain
To rise up a vision
Birds pecking the life
Out of the duration
Clasping to yard and needle
To mend the skies; beautifully
Closing in on this red moon
Dripping on villagers
Cups filled with April’s blood
Maniacal eyes; crossed and bent
A conduit
Glass has shattered
Spread across the sun
Smoke pouring from hat to hair
And he dropped where he loved
On the cold pavement
Reaching for his brush
And yet, his stars have yet to appear
