Blind (Presiding over the Funeral of Self Deception)

How many times have I seen this sun?


               yet failed to be gentle

with my to be loved

                         scalding in butter

to be dissolved

                                    a serf in mask

heavy in gold

                                           I clutch, disfigure, polish with shit

until grace rides in

                                                                     underneath my breath

raining soft upon


                the dual