.......

custard clavicle

searing sclera

i mist, Sierra:

unfettered,

you are lye and

feathered,

in fructose

you wither

through fox-fire

and spider silk,

frustrating

and

sidewinding

i'm fine finding

ore in rock and

ribs in piers

six feet under

porcelain stars watching

heaven's nail and hammer

obliterate an oblivion

of them, living in

cachexia with Lonegra,

Crawford, and Corcoran,

their celadon souls

at four fourty four

in the morning a

fountainhead

for mortar, i pestle

i am laced

in her hyancinth

and macrame helix

some spend

entire lifetimes

attempting to

become enveloped by