Filled with copper moonlight I stand on my balcony, giant leaps resonating several years past. Memory and prophecy come together like a jigsaw puzzle: deconstructionist, destructionist. The mystery of blue hardens quietly in the distance like a mountain. Foam and the solitude spill from the wide open abyss of my palm.

                As a secret my synthetic century coalesce from the blackcurrant clock. Tick, tock, tick, tock; the swan flaps its wings as winter turns so hideously Spring that, wintering it, one might be forgiven to think that April was the New Year.

                Quietly the stars breathe dust into my heart. With you, quietly the balcony crumbles, spreading its seed all over the earth’s unforgiving body. Our unchanging skies inhale the wind and wave of the night, quietly.



Wine and water, god and man. Deity enriched with the wheat of an undeniable rainfall. Silent rowdiness of drunken stars, images coalesce into art’s green chords. Twenty voices chatter, speaking of birds while hidden in the strawberry’s verdure. Hark, the monster of our sanglant desire.

                Water and wine, man and god. Blinding darkness loud enough that the woodpeckers mistake themselves for butterflies, pulsating magnets spin in the night. I drink. Is it wine or water, god or man?



I shelve each love by labelling my fingers Memories. Endymion wordlessly dreams, offshore whirlpools seduce Orpheus. Each word of mine a pouch with seven strings. Poseidon, futile at my feet. The misty dream of nymph and faun inscribe themselves coldly on the hearth of the badger. Arachne weaves the riots.

                My balcony is filled with copper moonlight, where I wait for the eternal Her. The restrictive body breathes quietly. Silk and skin and singing shudder tears through the entwined grapevine, resplendent in wine and illicit joy. A glance, and the moon extinguishes. We are left extravagant in torture, tension of an unheeded scolding.

                Love me you? the seagull cries invisibly. The scion of the depths roars but I hear not. My palm grows a deeper whorl of lines. The milk of midnight soothes my bed. Cicadas chirp. Torrent. Tempest. Torment.



What are you? The rains are here again.


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