028: The flower thief

With trembling hands on the viscid scape,

to never spoil a precious petal,

pickpocketing sights in subway cars to relive,

to recreate card chapels of sincere prayer,

of unbecoming words trepid of loss.

Modulate memories in gold and black like she was,

thoughts to fornicate in sagging anthills,

escalade in grasshops a private mountain

straying the escarpment of a lost Naraka

whence cells crystallize in human tidbits to be

a feeble abode of instinct and love

and culled fear, skulking in cherry groves.

Here, a collection of coincidences

ascribed to paths of stars and cold bodies,

in a neonate game, older than my forefathers;

here, a bardo trap, a keep of comforts

of empty presents from a wishlist in tar

that spells like a last will protruding

through cracks in my undying joy.

Within gardens of evil and hope,

roots of rage reel to acquire frail flowers,

pollen of pictures in blood ringing

on the limbs of butterflies washed in sunfire.

Test the finites of absolution, alpha and omega

in one single consummate image, nerve induced

through the pupil of the third eye.