With metal shavings, splinters in my veins,

my heart cuts me to pieces with every new betrayal,

though we all know better by now,

shamelessly dive in; as though one of us might precipitate from there and become The Titanic,

then sail across an ocean just to find the bottom again,

what an irony casket indeed,

these frigid depths like witches fingers on my throat,

throttled and cast aside, like so many lovers spurned,

and this melancholy, this wander henceforth spirit,

his name is Baptist, and he knows the waters,

holds them back in futility, aware at once that the day is Ground Hog’s,

cheery eyed and hopeful, less confident, more bashful,

biding time till heartbreak,

icicle his keepsake,

wounded beast,

last and least,

prays release,





Engulfed within a throng of monarchs,

angels grace me with their presence,

gilded wings with silver lace,

satin dewdrops on their cheeks,

needed aid; it came on time,

seems to me it was divine,

snatch me out from in the fire,

speak of love and true desire,

I deserve to burn,

will I ever learn?

but your cool cup it hands me water,

douses eyes and smothers flames,

your grace to me is something strange,

yet familiar,

almost as if I knew you all ways,

possible we met before?

somewhere in the greatest spiral,

freely offer soul revival,

I don’t know if I can make this motion any more,

this pendulum, this vacillation,

I choose to seek my heart today,

my mirth won’t come from chardonnay,

I’m different, to me it is poison,

I don’t say that for you it’s so,

but as for me an allergy,

to sanctify myself I need,

a little oil a bit of smoke,

a hotly blinding world of spirit,

this ends a means I’m coming near it.