Three & Thirty

Fear all feral, fractal,
tessellating jamble
of faces traced with terror framing
tattle, our tell trembles tremulous,

          in its reverent

dissonance, distancing
us from our exiled Selves,
taking turns making us earn well this
hell’s libel, utterly aflutter,

          butterflies & vapours,
          total submission,
          as echoes hit stones,

as rain does bones, breaking
storms against graves aching
to open, how I strove then, and strive
again now, desperate to drip my

          word in your ear, feel
          nearer our ending’s
          near total woeful

oblivion, that you
might for once hear revealed
how deep it is this need of mine to
be heeded by someone so dear as

          my distant youth once
          was, to be believed
          by loss, that the cost

of freeing one’s Self wants
for nothing much, save for
staving off this beard’s philosophers
put on to offer those bards who scoff

          at love’s art my heart.