no arc, only your back's arch

Warm Egyptian cotton, thousand thread

No less,

By body heat of my love

For absent lover

 

Boat built

When net recaptures

She

For then

My ghost

And your ghost

Those

Theirs

 

 

 

 

Every ghost

 

Is

Alike.

 

(w)(t)hen

Perhaps

It will be a

King

Sized bed, absent

Far removed from success

In my delinquent mind

 

 

Those cold

Thousand thread

Sheets

,

 

Either I am comfortable underground and blind

Or already dead.

 

Flames of

The remainder

Ignite

Heads

When

It’s one mind

I wish to remain embers…

I wait hammer in hand

If you command

 

Rivers follow floods

And inverse creates the two

 

What continent must I

Want need I, travel to

Decimate the origin to re-create

This great machine…?

 

      I’ve let me out

No sea

Like a brackish

Under-cooked-cow pond

Iron and salt

Anemic drink not from

Me-stream

 

I couldn’t even re-create

What a splash in tub

Could do

Tire to pot-hole

 

Swallow remaining stakes

Sleep with hammer on chest

After sweeping dust of my model ship into corner

Convenient store straws

Making my saving snorkel

 

You’re right

Dirt or water

 

Juggled goslings-mouse-things

Evenings

Need air

Every breath

Somehow

You’re there.

Reviews

[.]

~ a mesmerizing sadness, monsieur steeven... and yet hopeful... somehow, i can't help but believe in the universe... ~ oh, and this is definitely a masterpiece...