Sleek Pulp

Tearing through bodies to refresh one...

a raw timetable end to end.

Verily said unto--

sleeper-words activated as

healing agents.

The milky bulbs of elbows 

protract, as hands cradle

the back of a head.

The newfangled dreamer

has caught a way.

Somehow has given him/her

some way--an incendiary 

stronghold lives to praise this:

one-more-time.

The menagerie of him/her is

rounded up and rounded off...

their flickering numbers profess

anamalia half to hell, half to heaven.

A tilt to left or right to actuate

more or less of.

And in so being lorded over by

what passes their perimeters...

hands a hell, a hell--a heaven,

a heaven.

For what's astray passes through

itself in stages...tearing through

bodies to refresh one...a raw timetable

end to end.

Moment of overexposure compounded...

the sleek pulp draped over the

shoulder of night and day.

Konstantinos Mark