Pseudopsychosis.

Look at all the eyes

of humanity and light

cry into blood-welling

forgotten in unbridled free verse;

around the corner that last breath

in the mirror

moves in dream and desire

nigh to each taraxcum dandelion

flowering over mother’s relics;

another death

under the stars.

Into the darkest shadows,

in murderous torpor,

times of the fish

and times of the born

a man, a woman

and a flower in the dark

kneeled into the lines

of a dream,

lines of a dream

flows like death

dream and death

in a frenzy fire, my friend,

solitary like a forsaken past

in each shade of the sea

and a temple surrounding a dark voice,

in cold hands.

I see all their eyes on me

in blue ebbs

and lonesome ferns;

I look at their eyes

earthbound,

I’d awake,

and I could not whisper

into the integrity,

in a dance of a frost dark

in poetic desire

free of mind.

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