Non(e) Sequitor - July 3

YOU

A cliffside dripping off,

integrations of _____.

Looking downwards

is not the same as

looking down on.

Your eyes we

re once

so thick, almost

sliceable, and

I thought the taking

preceded the giving.

Streets flip 

oil now,

totally unlit.

(But God, the city is

so huge without you!)

Curled and clipped slow,

deconstruction precedes

the construction.

A Sonnet.

The numbers that count the days

Often find something else to become;

& the numbers that deem my age

are an exactly inanimate sum.

The summer is now sickly dwelling

in long sevens into curled eights.

Like my years, silent and swelling,

screaming "Not yet!" or "It's too late."

The time sleeps like wire

with promising numeric electricity.

But try, my love, not to tire

of its dark, inevitable multiplicity.

If all we have now is time,

Allow your numbers to be mine.

The Family

What's wrong with the stay, 

the stare of gorged mediocrity?

Is it the fix that refuses to

be mended that compels you

further to your island?

How dark will it become

before you have decided

that it would be just as

reasonable to close your eyes?

The follow, the follow has

been standing for months.

What silver droplet stays.

What dirty sickle stays.

What shimmering inky

bloodline goes.

Pernkopf's Anatomy.

The careful stroke of death

snuffed blue, red, yellow.

An education seeping

on German fingers, sleeping

neatly, brightly.

A debt to a degree, a

debt to the open arteries,

those which burst on

paper under the snarl

of solemn skin.

The torture of art leaping

from corpse to careful knife.