Antigone and her sweet Vagina in bloom
a yellow moon
shrouded crowned
sliding down
the fall from where I've worn
what Dawn has sworn
full pale cradled pedestrian,
flags planted tomatoes
hung seeds
flung needs
tattooed weeds
root tombed
to where my soul's progress
tries to bless
what mess
I've left
against her skin
, her dolloped seas
and glass skies
cries in the dark sometimes
that find rhythm
pocket-tucking reason
for glory's stories,
rocket-fueling three dimensional control,
silvered organs cornered hording,
selling chromosomes that reach
where I might fly
when I fall,
as I do
slung beneath
what daylight collides into,
in too what has stopped growing,
showing up in what my own eddies
catch in pools inside
the swirled tides of the shadows
that ride along what guides
how I see light
wide-viewed
in lieu
of love
when I hide...
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