Sanctions in alabaster
hang, street lamps
blown horizontal by a gale.
I, Faust, of blind and bound limb,
do hereby render omniscient all vortices,
all pondering and circumspection,
all fruits and rinds powders.
I blast.
Fornicator.
Fabricator of space and time.
Tumultuous riots spill into voids,
I swill a heady brew
of crabs and curlicues.
Rancor man. Rancor, man. Adieu.
First is affection, the kiss of warm flesh
sucked in and bitten, a molten waxy honey.
Next is prerogative dealing the cards
into a Gypsy cross, read "La Maison Dieu" as platform diving.
Last is resting, a float in the dark
on a willow branch barque, smoke rising straight to Vega.
My harlequins,
my grasping tempests,
resplendent in their obscurity;
I salute you.