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