It follows an interlude from which I'll read one,
it's called "What the Doctor Ordered."
Sutures for the forked tongue twine, twice around
for the heart.
Seals, approval, steamy backing.
It was in your head all along, the way
you spoke, the new skin of growth in your broken heart.
Perhaps you imagined even her whose fairy
kisses her psychogenic.
Warts, deep vacuums, low aches.
It's not likely love should last in this world, which does not
pardon us by this sun, no one may look at long.
From beauty I've gone blind.
And here give in to all darkness.
The questions I asked of stones will not be answered,
the light not shine in the eyes of the beloved
except I think I see it and I do.