Looking down on my lineage,
folios of ageless fathers
fall from my canopy atop
the family tree cursed with rot
breaking and crucifying me.
Expectation dressed in vapour
translates tangled whispers, drapes their
messenger struck down by Pilate’s
questioning in hot heiritage,
and breaks my fall with an offer.
Plucked clean as a son’s bleached carcass,
a pox of lips unsealed covers
my Icarus hips, kissing off
pale modesty rushing across
promises circumcising me.
Their eternity, my labour—
an exchange Time itself tapers:
covenants lit up like Christmas
unblitz and sober the vintage
fameless fire dri(v)es up its coffers.