Shut slits drip drops–
the streams stain the flushed face
in whitewashed trails across the expanse
beneath the quaking horizon,
but not one drop drips
into the serpent’s plate–
each drizzles into hands drawn
toward infinitely toward infancy–
dabbled in novelties that ferment
into renovated firmaments–
oblivion’s face debased
as the prince commences the crusade.
Even vinegar sweetens deserted
palates–the density sobers inebriated
stations, cracks the core of Calvary,
resurrects crucified love renewed:
I am reborn.


Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s