Epiphanies and Sad Poems

pale admonitions. lilting disease. the generous fever of when. deaf temples in the dirt. blind gods in the cunt. this drug as ample a paradise as any. the virus of touch. makes her ill. the cure for it makes her sicker.

the hours burns her. heavy needles hot with when. this prism of diseases will answer to her name.

broad breath. cautions the open flame. softly it stutters. like the crux of an orgasm. the soft stroke of the lie. the hard drag of the truth. each one draws the same blood from different points along the vein.

the clown is naked. his red nose fallen off. the elephant sleeps. next to the lion's cage. the circus shivers. the audience gasps. it's all a show. bright lights that go dark when no one is there.

the monkey bangs his stick. the Earth unmoved by his rage. Building his poisons in laughter and arithmetic. He closes his eyes. Pretending to dream. Though he remains awake.

Little dolls like dice. Numbers enough. To play to the game. The gentle lies of touch. Like breadcrumbs as I wander.

The monsters wear their bow ties. The villains their tuxedos. And here I am alone. Fiddling with these naked dolls.

Trapped in an epiphany of skin.