Memento Mori

 





 This torrid cold is gilding clay.

 Horizon scorched
 by a smiling gold.

 Bleeds the earth
 into gelded brays
 of frozen pain.

 Emptied urns
 have turned to burn
 this clash of wills
 into slashing walls.

 A slithered sniffing
 blood at length
 for divergent flesh
‘til winter's end.

 I’ll ease a cloak
 of flame within
 your plight of peeling
 time reprieve.

 Where the white winds
 croak on a tick of heads
 I skin to the dark
 from beyond your torch.

 I stand to sand
 with a bronzing hand.

 Dirk to the earth
 with a spurt
 & smiles
 when it's raining gates
 through pleading eyes.

 Hook & spray
 on a braze of chains.

 Dripping spikes
 into sliding shaft
 down the hawking stalk
 of a scarlet crawl.

 Finished in grey
 to an upturned lay.

 A sidelong glance
 that whets your walls
 will forge your throat
 to my wailing skies.

 A gawking grandstand
 crimsons clay.

 A torrid smile in molten place.

 Horizons torch
 my dripping eyes.