...........

phantom, you've grown!

fearful (in free-fall)

side eyeing me

and my oeuvre;

au revoir . . .

even your femur is disappearing

in lustra and the double,

while the residual razor

plays cat's cradle along swung

entrails hung in the entryway

writing ransom letters

for the dead.

with ears unhearing

and eyes unseeing

the seal and scythe

slash swiftly

beyond the onstreaming -

BOMBARDMENT!

bereavement . . .

i slither;

hither and thither

in the eternal purple

of the waiting room

furnished with arrow and sling,

knowing really never,

is there ever a next time.

saying grace

before the facefuck,

underneath eaves of gold

and ankling past

snowbank and salt lick,

my spirit, I must say,

has oh such incredible

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