maybe

winter attended my birth
in memory we conclude
this puppetry with a lantern
under the bed
that abyss in your savage
heart with bloody deeds holding up a wine glass
my soul is chained to mindless pomposity
like a butterfly of dust to a river
or your face when you first slithered
out of your mother
clotted with blood
from a shattered august you arrived whole
in your fragrance a lost child
with the same dark strength of the new moon
in the branches woven through the naked
birds
the rain was nude also
and sad also
without a melody
but there was
a contraption that spied you
through the fog
and numbered the days
*

how the devil
talks nonsense
the fruit of the womb
crucified in the palm of his hand
trees without trees in their leaves
the children are in charge of troublemaking
there are four skies in the sky
and vices beside the still waters
where you were beside yourself celebrating
but she was raped
and we went on as if she didn't
exist
*

maybe
to know her deadly kiss
her cold tongue
in my sleeplessness through the sky’s passageways
her electrifying nocturnal fragrance and
vertical dawns
will bow me down
before her double sided face of purity
and suffering
she says: you are small in my silence
lost in my wandering precision
possessed in my pitiful selfishness
noon cobbles the way beginning with midnight
it is a terrible thing cried a mindless protest
in the bitter tower of my fabled black snow
*