The Circadian Dead

 

viridian vein
spanned
with
disconnect
gushing waste
trickling hopes
spurting
zwischen
facing banks
holding
buried
lightness
of women
recognised
by
my
bone
all
mushy roots
water their
shame
outreached
tentacles
unsure which
memories
to cradle
unsure of
their true
shape
trodden in
repetition
furtive
pleasure
seeking
under
cloaks
that will
not
be fertile
toujours
in the way
the tyrant
wants
wind tells their
faces  -
- wet
sadness stains
never clean
with rub
especially
hold on
for your dear life
my loves
there is
a
song
for
you
in
me
    ‘frayed human
woman!
pin the /tale
on when
famished for
new identity
your
borrowed molecules
were
separated
from
perfect element
by spikes
whittled
from feathers
of ignored spirits
banished
you them
self companions
from
gilded cloud
deposed in the
desert of
urgent tasks
shadowless shadow
trampled over aeons
by ploughed fields
by crushing homilies
drowning in drought
guilt disguises
itself
by its
bodylessness
an awkward
dance
of
one empty
nylon
stocking
awash
with
plucked
hairs
bodyless
no body
to have been
done
unto
undone
stocking
line
peering
through
fish-shaped
red-veils
feel the
streets
still gushing
with
moon nectar
from those
far from
sage vein
ivory floods
the next
latching
on for
dear life

when did
oozing soldiers
begin
their
march
their trampling
still echoing in
spongy heart
who gave the
first
orders
sterile
ordaining anger dead
    
distress, suffering; anguish, agony
        distress, grief, sorrow, affliction
                tight, painfully constricted, painful

anger was always

its

own

name
always simple
always right
in our
marrow
bridge
women