Rose note in the genital area
snow falls has itself become sick
tenderness in the coarsest demands
what is turning in the wrong sky
dear light & to vanish closed
the scent of oleander, pink pepper &
tamarisks lingers forever
& in the diadem goodness
before fade-outs must be the Heart
now gradients in your Don't Die Crewneck
negative values conspire apart
can be eventually eliminated
abandoned what cruel brightness
denied your sleep
between the Left & the Right
what wrecked chine torn that lithium
downlight through the street
& into eternal gardens
but lay for me here
you your sweet-rising voice
pining rouged carmine
as if the dead would wait also
pains or becoming visible again
there in your room
are peaks gently kissed
inwards its private world
so we become an insurgent cell
of one & when love is not
unbroken or exiled without eyes
that unpities every word
inurns small drubbings
on the Kingdom of the Sick New River Walk
leaks out the last crypto-communist
whispered to itself:
‘Nobody exists’
then falls dead in the walls, floors bondage
predation even the living
will seem unreal will have to choose
just how much unpleasantness
we wish to create or conserve
hemlocked sweet to giddiness
the hyperthymic steel link,
or euthymic winking at the brim
travel to Switzerland to die & the dying
need not be sick
little insects all screws bolted
curled black lids fading shells
bumps, kidney shaped abscesses
& the dead meant for Linz
are actual police proxy codes
wire to wire memorised in amice song
the cultus medicine paste
trespassing in reuptakes
some things are free
through this alkaline garden
quiet breathe toured the midnight
faery lands forlorn in place of doves,
in the kingdom of the sick quivered
many more times on the sickle of your neck
& The Working Class Goes to Heaven
in a sacro pod every four minutes
I’ve tried to become that person
downed to the palest twilights
dividing by zero
that cures all but ends all
Manifest Destiny
this time the rostral shell
photographs of lilies
with funeral sympathy bouquets
Alex Karp’s mothers collaged motifs
Named The Gentlest Asphyxiations,
& pain the type you feel.
