IM THE COWARD WHO CANNOT FOLLOW

Edge placed so close to that dawning day
making love against dawns rash in corn
fresh mist raises the private curtain
as a river melts into sea
bribed by the passing vanish

thrown away that tear which i grew
tiny rose crystals
smoked crashing dreams
poems etched in hard grinding clay
stroked work notes
​​​​​​​hieroglyphics sink beyond this flesh

love that surface thread
i sank far below its grasp
where misshaped lovers dance into twisted grip
legends cut your angel palm from this desperate hand

now within these marble ranks
two broken sticks 
​​​​​​​and the desperate hand