I feel my way into the scent of the poem...

as if my fractured
tortured words are time
fleshed almost to a communion
with a maternalizing modernity
birthing me
to a point
of a complete incompletion,
it is art breathing beauty
wearing tongued words
as I might wear the air
of an ugly smile
and smell what resigned concern
sees before burning
any memory I bleed
to seed with what I learn
from the turn
from need to bloom...