Plasma I store runs a panicked course
‘long my insides and now sheets. It’s spilled
blood drained of water and turned
wine and red and black. The ritual drink; the last
drop of oil licked in the flames of sex
ignited along the slick, washed in white
like us ignited and burst
from the plumb line of chest. So drenched in it all
I calcify, smothered in bases and tonics,
the medicines of our sacrament will
discover our sores in secret pain
and scarring bliss.
Filled up with it.

So blood is not blood when lit
aflame. Milk’s brother and caustic sweat
leak and expel in such clime of steam and
slake, in sublime and dense breaths.
Pure life and empty body demand
buried spasm, salt, flesh and sorts, panting
mattress, left over orts and mess.
Melting in a swell
like cubes of ice soaking crushed fruit and dry vermouth at the bottom of a glass.


from Lime / Meat, released December 21, 2013


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