071: The flower thief, part 2

Nuclear heart to be cherished
from a safe, dim distance,
as my eyes beckon late evenings
to conceal what's trapped
in a jaundiced gaze,
birdcage of field flowers drowned
in bile from the pig liver of love.
Presiding over an empty court,
I decree transmutations
for coercion, golden concrete,
owner of what shouldn't be,
nosebleed the loneliness
- mind ravish the body -
and jet black choler, the mortar
to fix the battered bulkheads
and face-lift the facades
of a soured Magonia.
Born from the egg
inside the skull of a stepchild god,
my sketch antihero, persona of null,
everyday war against landfill dragons,
splintered sword still sharp,
he feeds the leech of pulsing life,
stuck to a bloated vein,
subway shafts encompassing.

Vision comes as thief and judge and jailer,
a spoon in the murk of days,
red cloud to the sun, a backward light,
barbed wire dreamcatcher
evolved to raven feathers,
metronome the string of captured moments,
living life, a collection of seconds.