figment of the corporeal punishment

invoked against me, to hasten

melted.

i became an alcoholic in the depth of the evenings

when usually tucked away beneath

a newspaper or folio - an emptiness rang.

the sound of a cloche in the space,

when the pause slices the misty morning

before - bronze - struck.

actually just retreating into my dragon,

straight spine against the onslaught

of without.

dry and sober, my drunkenness

bequeathed unto the altar of memory

and after the abyss chewed

my lips raw, i began to grieve in whole

in part and in fortresses slit

with rampart covens for aiming true.

incantations, of me.

gone now, and the time is kept by a church tower

i will not see.

the fields peppered with soldiers

reenacting battle for the silent dead marching

our streets. and no one says:

the definition is slaughter.

our eyes tased closed. poisoned with branches

bare - they say it is crazy.

so i drink. well water.

ⴲ.