Splitting pod beans between reason & passion.
Glitter of coiled anguish, blossom
Of oblivious, tarnished desires.
Is not a serpent but a slug
The damp shiver creeping
Beneath the lumbar vertebrae.
Sticky as indelible delusions.
There’s a dystopian belief that
Chasing eventually culminates in getting.
But how could this prickling tar
That solidifies heat, crushed in stream
Of vermilion, agitated, ecstatic globules in,
How could it mean
When the only tease
Tingling your tired, askew, tiptoed feet
Is the baffling, haunting feel
Of annihilating mill:
Grinding, grinding, unceasingly grinding
The ablaze scaffold beneath your flawed skin.