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In Our Blood

I

It’s in our blood, the diamond sadness for lack of organs and spit up chewed flesh, a promised corpse the window’s breathing and nothing happens so hold yourself down to a hole in the ground, forgive me father and close his silver eyes.

Beside the decaying cow splattered with polychrome.

The one you kiss has Lethe in her spit, she teaches you the language of solvent and solution: I remember me and my mother giving birth to each other simultaneously.

Do you struggle to sweat the seven signs into flames upon your brow, to birth your heart out through your mouth?  We rip the skin from billions of bones how futile our golden obelisk and fake.

II

Oh ancient Tithonius, your jaw has locked your concubine’s gift of infection, so jaundiced her endless hair once spiced by the roots of Porphyry.

Wake the fuck open comatose and rotten, the sound of every living heart on earth will burst, she makes us all sob in our greatest dreams.

Whether or not you no longer need the clot to heal the time will come that silence for five-thousand nights falling to sleep, broken by the loudest distance, the hexarterial heart beats like the laugh of your dead body.

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