What the sell-out sold us turned my
     intent into symbols, shit into gold,
     negative thoughts into positive, saw
     the deep, trawled obscene depths and hauled
     up from its (c)rippling abyss my
     heart’s inability to (t)rust,
     slave-blue bruises of eyes cruising
     skies violated by my sighs
     of missiles widened to glimpse my
     body’s shell casting a shadow

onto the dull fog of someone
     else’s mystery, a dearth of
     tears trick(l)ing death into fearing
     me, he who bellows defiantly, ‘You
     wear black and blue, the colours of
     bruises, since your heart’s so wounded,’
     he who somehow knows misery
     moves mountains and throws below clouds
     what I choose not to reveal, death
     and I concealed doubt and in a

copper-ear(n)ed moment we both heard
     what Venus wanted no one else
     to hear, her spheres turning, heaven
     nearing earth without warning, and
     turning corners into circles,
     we edged until morning, over-
     flowing to bursting when the ground
     opened, seeding with fertile blessing the
     dying planet’s pulsing crescent,
     MGM Grandslamming the wealth

of our loads into the open
     mouth of Mother Nature’s gaping
     hole, vagabonds gambling, doing
     what we willed in one of those cold
     plastic moments when the ego
     wilts, when instinct leads us instead
     and we go deflowering it
     with all the abandon of mad
     men trampling a garden, fruits tasting its
     hidden knowledge with blistered fingertips,

lingering in carnal tunnels
     unarmed angels cruise for leather-
     clad lovers under the auspices of
     fathers other than god, cloud with
     breath drenching the pelts of our chests,
     swords flaming against the invasion of
     beasts’ voyeur-faces as our moans
     defame them, tame men chained to each
     other by our desire to live
     forever, death and my Self pretending

no beginning or end exists,
     that this life is itself a style
     of destruction, cycling until
     together we kiss the abyss
     and covenant with those moments
     of truth myth clothes in secrets with
     which reason conflicts, my own reflection
     promising a glimpse of what needing some-
     one keeps me from seeing clearly,
     how near to eternity I have been.