Inquisition

 
An open space
of blade on wind.

Grits this dirty spell.

I left my shadow cleft
by a babbling brook
all hooked to the tendril
of a murmured glaze.

I snapped with rasping
scamps in damp.

Dust.

This wild brown musk
can only be dusk-at-play
to drip-drawn-dawns
on swarthy stones.

Hoof prints lead
beyond the reeds.

Recorder chips
on ever-changing
fountain shapes.

Naiad deems
ensorcelled lust.

Watered sculptures
sing obscure.

A beast in the boots
of our ancient echoes
yet to sunder.

Thundered brandings
pan of grey.

Or braining rain of pause.

{applause}

I realize
this pulse
must bush
the tickle
of your
shaving whet.

I know how
these chills
adrift
across
the hills

could track your hair
to the scream
of your dream.

-Night-tree task
 your light to pass-

I fill my flask
on the shriek
of your beam.

Our squalls of love
through blood & teeth.

From past your bones
I burst through
these silvered currents.

Moments-

{augured remains
 of a wasted age}



-shadows hearken
 doors to stone
 on the unsheathed glade
 of space on wind.

~mind in filthy tack~

I left my shadow cleft
& babbling by the brook...

all hooked to the pending
of a hidden s.word…