tongue is
oversweet
yearning
(looks)
(smells)
fig’s sap
leaking
on the plate
no matter
the fuzzy mold
the langue
is spoiled

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cinders falling off the blue sky
colt red narrows, in the slough
the weigh of blood, doors closing
shuttered, jugular, nitrate sheen
on the child’s cheek, old photo
flush against the gryphon’s aged
bindings an open book (contrasts)
hot, cold, commas take the breath
in series, revolve the frames before
death shuttles, pricks, accounting
unsequenced the stages, lovehates
leanings and kisses, tearing away

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stumbling
is where
I find myself
blind
folded in
to interior time
alien
to the
crowd but tasting
smelling
touching the
sticky air feeling
my
way to
the sweet prize

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