Blur sores that breed and crawl around on
one’s chest cracks and stains in a pattern
Of geometric impossibilities the ashes and
the razors that tore one’s hallucinations
To shreds the clatter and the clamour
melliflous as the nightingales’ song Oh
where have I been where have I bled Lungs
filled with sulphur thrown open the doors that
led to emptiness burned into The retina an
image of the gossamer textiles that separated two
bodies fantasies Of sleep ricochets within a
parralellogram Oh where have I been where
have I bled The art of contradiction Of
contraction of contortion of contusion of
confusion of conclusion
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