:::

 

Gifts somewhat larger than a fly in the left eye

have saved me from setting off like foam

red riddles would empty me of everything

the eyes that searched into the depths

into its own black nothingness

the mouth elephantine 

on its way to a dizzying disappearance

crying curled brain convolutions 

lifting overloaded weights

the stick-foods of age neon-tense

the eyes' eternal tearful questions

how the dung-soaked revenge 

perished with its extinct salvation.