TROPIC OF PISCES


who am i
but a timelord
rent
of corpse to swim in warm oceans of this planet
too much sleepers under star roof
vacant caves for paint
by numbers
as if i will die if i will myself to deth
on a ledge
on a plain stretch toward the end of the world
is to me the ocean
where everything can roam until your enemey
sweeps through your ankles w an axe
or ends happy
w me kissing your wounds to say
there is magic in my spittly gape
a motion over skin
she waves from
over here
calls distance a jump
where my arms are waiting
i can catch cold
bc my socks are soaked as i walk to some home
empty eyes stare inside the skull
wonder
is also there
to find a nothing far
a robe to warmth
coated throat in something like honey
after bees go
and the seas take back the land of whales
songs score the air
w false teeth
made from the jewelry of gods/goddesses
that i have forgottten the names of
bc i do not hear the horns
over crumbling sandstone