He came to in his bed, electrocuted and overhauled.
He can't sleep, can't fury, an exit so perfectly zone
and restitute.
It's the bars that stretch out the body to fickle heights,
then spring back to channels, are
ready to kill, to oil, to kill the Titan, a tortoise
in the glass, a blue halter.
He came to in a loincloth.
Yesterday, 100 muscles began a crusade
to lash 100 cycles of pain to tables, crime and old,
not unlike a rubber cock.
A mask of bars, a private council of sun.
Yesterday, 100 muscles were more practical than satisfaction.
Today, a lifetime wasn't enough to smack
the ongoing rash of lonely, more than saffron and rain.
In the woods, they were perfect to hang,
and the hung would rise up on biceps just
to hang again in a circle of sacrifice and scars.
He came to, resuscitated.
They had to hold him back from climbing, frigid.
Down at his feet, his dog tried to keep him from going.
I'm apples, he said, as they stripped him of blossoms.
He came to, perfectly hung.
In one version of a cell, the planet would roam in the rain.
On the left a flask, a limit of fighting.
On the right, a passcode to version 2, but version 3
was where security held a key to the tunnels.
A boy in the bed, in the tree.
He lived in a kennel at the back of the house.
Passcode cursed, he could not fuck until the version of he
righted itself in the room.
His mother made him a tuna sandwich,
and what did she cut up and put on the plate but a sail
and a slash of turquoise paint.
She laughed and said, that's not for you, at least for now.
No friend, no man, no flask.
Keep yourself close.
He came to, deliciously corrupt.
But so tempting, so luscious, so impossibly thick,
that's so unattached, so hung, so strangled.
But so taunted, so vast, so very sad,
that's so pictured, so styled, so invited.
But so ancient, so familiar, so clean,
that's so breathless, so desperate, so spoken for.
But so seductive, so labial, diseased and dangerous,
that's so marred, so pocked, so long.
But so marred, so pocked, so long,
that's so seductive, so labial, diseased and dangerous.
But so breathless, so desperate, so spoken for,
that's so ancient, so familiar, so clean.
But so pictured, so styled, so invited,
that's so taunted, so vast, so very sad.
But so unattached, so hung, so strangled,
that's so tempting, so luscious.
So impossibly thick.