words are clumsy cotton balls
growing meeting throat’s walls
heaved up reluctantly dry
silence. marry me to nights alone
seal it with blank arms kissed by the icebox.
later, peel away my rind with a thousand trembling fingertips
breaking into geode crystal depths, unseen and
quaking to the pulse of ineffability.
so late it’s nearly early, we become
a nest twigged together to hold the exhaustingly fresh visions
we exhale, and a great horrible ringing halts the night
at a wavelength too long to wait for.
sound projected carried on lumbering backside of
the sea’s crustiest
this world, our dream-words, submerged
sifted swallowed shat, and lifted out
dripping holy water, a silken crackling glaze sleeping on
its empty longing surface
ready to be filled with anything