Tugging the corners of the horizon
-new morning pulls its woollen façade
over the face of omniscient twilight
as the man in the moon is off painting
my portrait atop a nebula canvas.
Down below on the muddy ground
I ready the back of my throat
in preparation to promisingly greet
the whirlwind piece of art HELLO BONJOUR
venturing from the dark photon velvet
cut around an unseemly gravitational frame.
The hand of a god is teasing me
covering my portrait with a hazy vale
thick with liquid light and smoky skylines.
I see the canvas
marked with swirling photons
pushing themselves up and down
flashing back and forth
leaving me to bask in
what half of myself is lightly planted
on the gritty ground.
Then the image fades
leaving the weight of my body
and a foggy atomic caricature in my head.
Farewell but with no sorrow
-in this exhalation
I speak to the flailing thread
hanging as I push
my feet forward onto a
sand choked shore where
the salt spray tastes sweet
but the touch of the tongue
is not fooled by the waters' bitter rush
as a wave pours its life into the throat
cutting short a breath
cuing the senses
to rush and dance and fornicate in a mutiny
of delight and excitement
Just like centuries before
the moon wanes
and I can see the portrait
hanging in the halls of a crater.
"STOP YOUR MELANCHOLY SIGHS
I ASSURE YOU THERE IS ENOUGH
ROOM ON THIS CANVAS
FOR ME TO PAINT A LANDSCAPE
OR A BEDSIDE BESIDE YOU
LET ME CUT YOUR VEINS
NO MATTER THAT YOUR BLACK BLOOD
WILL LAND ON THE SHORE
IT WILL BE WASHED AWAY
BY THE SEA"
Said the star dwelling lips
of the artist at large.
I held out my arm
a sharp slice of my flesh
fell onto my feet
and out poured my breath
out flowed the black blood
it followed the red and black streaks
of twenty-first century bile
into the sea
to be swallowed by the pounding surf
to be tasted in the back of my throat
when my own portrait falls on me
and I land face first into the tide.