I. My soul is an inkwell

Among shadowy proxies

Eternities of Skype calls

Coagulating on the unfurling

Book of brine with understudies

Of suicidal waves

A dove for each page-break

A bloodstain for each inquiry

Shivering in sandy bosoms

 

II. Your name in smoky syllables

The drunkard consumed for Passover

Atop the thorny Via Dolorosa

Jesters with the muddled laughter

Of a tree whose trunk encapsulated

An obituary of our love (and my crystal timepiece)

Within the golden chapel, Peddlers

Gorged on starry cornbread, crusty horizons

 

III. Our roots entwined the pew

Great anthems of light rising

From shady hymnals, which my sister ignited

Last Wednesday allied with Goring’s phantom

 

IV. We thieved matches

And ate poppies from the row of crosses.

Our arms coalesced into them after

Crows gagged the scarecrow-

A ligature of ant queens

Nuptial wombs of hushed foragers

Fleeing Rasputin’s honeyed globe

And a lone weaver on the looms of dawn

An undone love in a zipper of husks

 

V. Oblivion dressed like a seamstress

Impregnated with misery

Death that humiliated supervisor

When the weaver only jarred

Tulips with bruised panniers

Oily kisses; She was rootless

We existed in tubers of laughs

In each others’ hearts of cards

Vermillion king on snowy deathbed

Our love performing euthanasia

To become despair

 

VI. Toasts becoming dreamy butterflies

The world is a carousel

And stars those dingy mares

Wafting tune: spring’s wakeup call

To chisel marble effigies of clouds

And dissolve her green eyes

Into rivers of sprigs

With an isle of an admiral and a debutante

Infatuated beneath inky skies the comet-poet

Pondered about while in slumber