The Skull On the Table

February 11, 2018

The Skull on the Table

*
Bouquet of nothing
in this vase ringed
once with watery thoughts.

*
Someone emptied this glass
but first someone filled it.

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Seashell rustling of things washed away.

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Sand at the bottom of an hourglass
never to be turned again.

*
All this openness!
One only had to compose
away from one’s bones.

*
The chambers echo faded hymns.

*
Inside : the blank ceiling of a chapel.
Immense murals unmade flake by flake.

*
A geode that glistens with phantom
memories. A spiked glitter beyond imaginable.

*
Who embroidered your osseous fabric?

*
Desire carved this canyon.

*
Engraved prison walls.

*
Looted jewelry case still smelling
of silver, amethyst, and sapphire.

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Sun weaves into your openings
warming the walls where hopes used to climb
like coral roses at every instance of light.

*
A camera without film.

*
Honeycomb. A humming keeps filling
these cells with drops of amber absence.

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A lesser moon or greater.

*
Ancient monastery where once a monk dreamed
of planting all the flowers of the world.

*
O dried flower pod, what seeds are these?

*
If you’re a bell then you have no tongue.

*
If you’re nothing
then you weigh heavily upon this table.

*
If you’re a souvenir
then you do not remind us of life.

*
If you’re a poem, your lines fail
to evoke lips moist at the center,
hazel irises ringed with fire.

*
Your mind deserted you like swallows
through a collapsed barn roof.

*
Does your spirit ever visit you
like a dust storm a ghost town?

*
Extinct star on the table.

*
The evening stains you a light crimson
and then dusk drains you of warmth.

*
I will sit with you and the night will come
and fill you again like thoughts of nights,
and stars, and shooting stars, and planets as distant
to us as death.

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