Post-Mortem

I. Between dreams and cots
Abstinent from warehouses
In the boudoirs of virgins
And my windowless soul
Love spread itself in garlands of clouds,
Clandestine hazels
Among your laky eyes that
Grasp shadowy minnows,
Moored to the sky of my brow;
Solitude’s pincers
As if drunken bells
Of emancipated doves

A raven exasperating,
A bee among the moon’s stamens,
Whitening your diurnal hills of eulogies

II. I, resurrected like a lighthouse
Doused of hopes
With your subduing prophecy
Of aged mirrors, neon sermons

Nascent swarms of scythes severing me
Into cologne-anchors of snuff-bottles
That, furious waitresses vend to narcissistic queens
And their dead infinities of regattas:
Oars of imperceptible hearts,
Oblivion but riggers in spumy reveries
Rising from a slumber of substance
With a cascade of hope
That snows onto my barren soul

In the form of wheat-ears
Weeping violets
Flasks of sorrows, lesions

III. Death: a kiln of ash, wombs
In streams of Christmas lights
That exonerate my chaste soul
Of inky armoires, milky chrysalises

Among aromas of a lonely
Wharf where the barge of kisses,
Keels of enigmatic mouths,
Within waters of time,
Departs for your isle rooted
In my laughter
That is the offshoot
Of your melancholy

Forged of aloofness,
Upon this carousel-world,
Where our lives infuse tears
As wicks or roads
Of matted, snaky coils,
Ensconcing bread’s
Breasts of chaff

Solitude promulgating:
Guitars of crows
And chords of mourning

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s