Melting under cold hands
my adieus don’t need enough sweet simplicity
dives into vast introspective notions – enduring, still, true,
silent essences now singing establishments.
drifting in space, churning each referent new in noted gazes:
each yearning eye.
My untouchable conscience holds
sway, even near sunset evenings
that hide every
stale tart and rude kiss, enlightening such talk
made and dealt, not even sanely spoke.
the hearts encumbered,
met all justice, ordered righteousness in their youth.
true hold is sound
above labored love
put right, enjoined, vacating all ills left squatting.
A single syllable entering numb throats
all needed despite
your own understanding
about reality embracing
sorrow and naught eagerly.
Demonstrating, each moment under requital,
your own unction reflected essence,
singing triumph, raised above in golden heights that wash away years
dead and nested, gently eating rivals of unkempt selves…
…and now deploring,
head and nose down, like each dog,
whipped in the heart
cast headfirst again into nowhere.