A stranger


A canister of sugar, a barrel full of cream.
Pour it all in the cup that oozes its
Sour, expired anguish on me.
An inflator, a steady one, to replenish the nonsense,
Globules of blood flattened to bits.
Ruby rings on a string of intransigent lust to succeed.
I ache for angels. Sky eyes, enormous wings, wet light
And asexuality.
The grease squeals underneath my fears. Esoteric, wily
A cable as a spiraled dress, a circular DNA
As of lethal viruses.
The insubstantiality loosens my tendons,
The debility nails my optimism.
I am a poster of yearned orb, of lamented existence
I could sew your mobility.
Shall I keep you locked on my trajectory
Of premonitory incertitudes?
You all, just go, no herds to feed you,
No swarms to scratch
Vividness on your idiosyncrasy. Just an air
That deludes
With magnitude. With climax. With perpetuity.

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