 Sono Lo Segno |
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| Adamas Diadema ocean arms, with hands poised on waves in a phial aching light, twisted shut by form tide shoulders shrink back into ebony caves through an aisle of skin, moves a mile of storm. a heart copulates with the womb of a lung thus conceived in that bloom of effortless grace a child of longing is thrust from the tongue and writhes on the eyes of a shuddering face. on amniotic diamond, progeny facets a squall, swims through her soaked culet and sighs and in effulgent deference, crowns her with its caul then passes to heaven as heat from her thighs. an ephemeral vision, a glimpse underneath a spindrift of masks on an ocean of blood reveals a single black swan unraveling her kiss. love is the trestle of fury and breath, a diadem of nepenthe grown from the mud of a hell burning lampblack and bliss. Kalliope Amorphous |
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Oscine within the wet fane of undulating sinew the oscine unfurls her hungry mouth upon a squalid altar each vein keening obeisance to the forgotten biers the postiche temple burns a paper veil, a trail of vapors ignited by a woman’s bellowing thew her dauntless wing, humbly stretched toward hell lifts the exiled to reclaim the psalter and by that holy book engulfed in flame by that tome of death march, scourge and sin graveless wraiths collect the blood from oscine’s tired throat with the tenderness and requital of satiated calves for centuries gone sapless and unfed, they float pausing first to taste its sound they dip their fingers in and in her frenzied sanguine write upon the smoking text: Rejoice! We have a name. Alas, we shall be dead. as that unholy place, now a muted ghost of smoke and fright hangs in spectral skin from its own gallows its grave unmarked, its fork-tongued prophets scattered to sky oscine descends the staircase of her song and moves through night her wings caressed into the gloaming, bird daughter of the hallows Kalliope Amorphous |
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Loom a weeping vein, like this a fire moves in flame through fractured dreams. a spider spins them threadbare at the seams in the place where trembling breaths expire. by a blind birds loom composed of sight, the sobbing spirits rest. in crooked stance, her talons cracked and worn, she mends the filament and from her needle tongue is born a firmament of song, gold linen for the guest. a brush made of ashes from Lykaion’s peak sweeps her eyes solemn in a footprint of night and in the hollow of her cheek, a bower of shadows on a tower of light wrapped fetal in her warp and weft, death’s roaming moan dissolves to grace in the tender bend of beauty’s drape. the heart of compassion is darkness and deft, a ghost on the mouth of eternity’s face, in a kiss parched with wailing, forever agape. Kalliope Amorphous |
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