My heart is a mudpie bleeding in the rain
So bright of red that it contains the sun.
Sopping clay falling through tiny fingers,
to the soft applause of relentless rain.
Cold petrichor fossils burn through icy nostrils,
choking back chalky mouthfuls of earthen fruit.
A child cries. Rivers of mud pour from her chin,
Death ebbs, all bloodied across her hands.

Until the tears burn like electric darts,
lightning of the mind, short-circuited, leaking,
Where Endymion eternally reaches for a fleeting moon
sinking behind the mountains of Caria.
My heart is a pale rock fading in the night.

The sky, a remorseless sea that seeks
to drown all light with its magnitude.
Where blue devils tear the sash from around my chest.
The harder they claw, the more death is like a dream,
a kaleidoscopic interplay of ontological absurdity
on the green table of mortality
where umbrellas float upside down
like orbiting fishing boats without rudders
until I drink the ocean dry,
and spit it back out,
filtered through my teeth.

The mad wolf turns his eyes towards the moon,
hungry and full of salt. The last bits of light
slip over the horizon forever.
Sweet, jellied darkness
I carried you in the womb of my nightmares!
“Aller Anfang ist schwer.”
All beginnings are hard,
until the stone smiles
and grows eyes so that it may sleep.
It’s draining arteries, a delicate latticework
of diluted oil drowning in the stream.