poems

i am misshapeni am sorrow and i am scarcei will kill and heave myself back into placebefore the morrow night;before the ill-shapen dust in the mirrorhollows its face into me once more,before i glance at heaving lungs,before the trance achieves a tongue,before imperceptively, i appearbefore a crowd, and almost sneerat all the heavy facesand the unclear

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i will be wondering and wellafter the psychotic static rings a belldichotic listen to a narcotic yelldwelling on the night-stricken hairin a mycosic cell

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the soul of the pythonpiled away in nothingscloseted and foulgruesome and petrifying in its daysblue sun, electrifying in its daze all of a sudden;erroneously joyous,i shall bring about my mind to a river,and i shall slightly hopeto befall the lake it sails onwards to just as swiftly;i shall lose my face to my handsand play

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