they twist in
and out of eachother's limbs as if
for a salty bone to grasp and dry their flesh roots around
and stay twisted into one formless repose of the indented gut.
they whisper swollen tongues into the hardened pelvis of their neighbor,
wishing to be stuck between the thighs of the sun
and graced with unbound flesh.
if only a wrist could be above
the unopened ground of sodden dirt and black roots
of which strange, bruising fruit peers out and burns from lack of spine.
she knows she can shine again at the point of an exposed skeletal structure;
brittle, white granite sparkles unlike any precious rock upon a cliffed crown of decedence
but this 'decedence' is lost between darkened brain
and nests of maggots
they remain a knot of bleached incandscence
the actual weight needs translation into
DEAD (languages forever silenced by the slash and burn technique on this garden of human stems). .
heads shoot up from cold shoulders
out of place.
like a desert spakled with melons or rosebuds
in the midst of something cracked; half shattering-dusty
but willing to coruscate
if given the chance.
who can name this sculpted abstract 'corpus' ?
and what finger will point and say 'art' ?
i would say
pristine tragedy -(chisled)-
spine and jaw presented in mud casting
but brittle like glass as if a moth stuck in the hollow of a bone
could shatter her structure with a heartbeat
,and shiver ,
creating a chain reaction
(reverse) atom bomb
redundant [i] [/i][i][/i][i][/i]