A Trilogy of Sincerity

in a rose-quartz twist,
a petrolglyphic hack,
with primate tools.

i n d i vi d u a l l y

sit, sat, sut, the daily pendulum
burns new freckles on our skins,
and we kiss receptively, lips,
to the pores of the constellations,
lying, chanting, climactic climates
of our sensory mutualism-

unagreed, disengaged enough,
to be tangled in a revolutionary
meeting of elongate limbs-

some sexual exhuberance, swimming
in the dark corner of the eye
where a lamp bleeds the sun from
a chord in the wall,
and we sweat in the undeniable
house of winter-

interrogating one anothers souls
so gently that we laugh and wrestle,
and are perplexed at what was said at all,
and laugh some more.

theatrically imbibing,
we are undying,

in a spectacularly glowing feild
of the tallest tales and whales
and pelican beaks-

and all the while,
floating away with the
thistles of some undying dream

becoming alive


1.

in the belly of a cricket tide,
grass hopping after the worn season
of the chestnuts that fell in acres,
under the umber sky,
to the ochre floor,
that sing to bare feet -

this is not lunacy

2.

cracking a shell of egg white,
i fell in love like yellow,
and hooted in the ear of the train whistle,
and thrust and churned and ejaculated
and lay like midnight,
and was fulfilled and unfulfilled,
and burned endlessly through
the tunnels of flesh and greetings

3.

please, and when you say sloppily drunk
i lea
      n
and c
        o
    l  l
  a 
     p
      s
 e
and day is dead,
and sleep leaves ambiguity, desolately straggling
in the tracks of tomorrows ghost town,
and i'm there, on the platform,
where we meet,
and the station growls and rumbles,
rusts and sighs,
i am dissolving in a gutted stream
of the best that can be________________________________________________________________________________________