It Was A Trick Of The Light,
To The Wounded Winding Of Springs,
So She Could Lift Her Eyes To The Rift,
Where Mortality Could Be Feasted UpOn,
And With The Rotateing Of Erasure,
Mouths Could Construct Epitaphs In The Corner…
…
Of That Room… A ChamberLess Embryo For A SexLess Sliver,
A ReVerseing Labyrinth Singing To ItSelf For A Body Politic,
Rolling InTo ItSelf To UnCorner And Be Juggled InTo Orbit With Plaster
Cherubs,
As Fertility Dug Deep To Bury The Clock’s Incessant Throne,
Ruleing InTo HerSelf To UnCover Another Jungle…
…
Ignorance Biteing Worth… Pleaseing Richer Ballistics,
A Stoned ForEver Swept Under The Rug To Keep Her Hands Flushed,
Insectile But Not ALone,
Cruelty Granting OnTo Its Union… A Yesterday’s Cutting Through…
…
For Stained Glass…
…
…
Coloring The Faces Of All Those Who Sit BeSide Her,
UpOn Arbor And Brow…
…
…
…
If It Is Good For The Noose,
Then It Be As Good For The Sander.
More at http://rwkt.blogspot.ca.