UNIC
This accordion ribbed life, peeking
Between the curtains of your ribcage, pried upon the pyre of a winter, as long as your finger
Curlicuing graffiti on the teeth of your lower jaw: rhyme that, you
You who listened to the language for the cobbled footmarked in the nightmarket temple, the rusted bronzed crucifix in the Hamilton neighborhood Slavic church, built from the stains and small coins of the Slavic steel workers, brackish tongues, black bread cigarettes, the cloudy cadences of murmering men huddled in the corner of the West Harbour Train station, seeing clouds through the biting train horning their own death, myasam from the opiate dream: Church. Cloud. Calm. Coming. Calling.
March leaves in the rain sparked wind, sparkled the understanding of the vibrancy of ghosts.
You vulnerable in your very shifshaping spring.
who more revenant and fearful of apparition that those who do not believe,
the eagerness of the eidolon
There, in their eyes
wayward poet witnessing as Goya painted: unafraid and illuminating dark with dark, birthing light.
The palm grown fern and shadowtall from a Jerusalem rock scattered from London to Taipei, those knuckled sounds and songs.
Language as divested aches of sorters and ghouls and lovers
and the refuge hearts in fleetfox hunger.
Descry:
the shift halo go
