Splinter

I

And none mark the passing of the hour
smiles thrown off to shatter in glass synergies-
explosions leaving fragments to corrupt our ears in biting confusion
and face drawn down
I look better- such deliberation expanded and met forever
if I bring it back, soaking in mornings to sleep and drink my fill of aritificial and bright colored night in my eyelids
painted, pooled across my limbs and unseen corruption of the sun in my jerking dreams
falling awake in the hands of white heavy seas- all swirling reigns, realms of bitter joy
lethargic and terrible agonies more unbearable for their stillness
the only thing to purge me is breath
sloping down my chest in white expanses, quick jumping fluctuations, to capture something in illumination!
and shadows cleared- morphing  new faces out of the bleary light
we have white skin without mystery to thank for our madness
bare and lost of hues, textures
my hands collapsed
rubbing to lend some edge of roughness to the blank spread
and inhale,
light fumes up furious in gasps of white choking blindness-
Who knew blindness could be so knotted, so glaringly obscene as this?
Innate darkness that bleaches me from the outside
acute fluid, drawing blood from my neck to strap me down
swelling my ankles with its weight to hold me reasonable
lunatic fury and venom heavy in my eyes
dripping holes in the cheeks of the sun
burning a new reflection with apocalyptic heat
wraithlike, impossible
dressing my wounds
with the graceful hindering cold,
slipping abysmal form my mouth wrenched open
oblivious, stiff tumescent on the ground
In a thousand years I'll be pristine
dry with cracked eyes and running sores 
darkly withdrawn and curiously primeval in my haze
an ancient sign, tense monument to near-escape
wrapped and scowling with violence, laughter etched in the curving silence of my eyes
Sanctifications and tragedies drop here
ending with cataclysmic screams rent white as the self rejoins exclaiming
I'll be saved!
and dust filming the upper curtain of the mind will suffocate its piercer
Sinking out of my skin, I find only baptism
and such return, the congealed and desperate crime I wasted on grief
smiling and smelling of ancient fecundity
mystics spitting curses through their hair- wiry and knotted in a cool wind, tangled in webs to catch the filth of time, so greasy and imperceptibly loosed, borne forever,
burnt with fire, dancing to spill with liquid precision their wire intestines, shaking with laughter from exposed bellies
shaved and burned clear with thought, swollen with inenviable collapse
scarred in rivers down their spine, caverns for sweat to drown in murky dampness
gleaming with self aware stillness
unchanged in their charred skin and wild motion, that is not motion and marred with the mad allowances of the first incurable collapse, hair matted with the rain that will come tomorrow and end the world
until then, so deluged, deluded,
a vengeful riding of a barren sun. 


II

And all this from my eyelids:
seething, teeming with unbearable movement
convulsing a thousand mornings' forgetfulness around the dirt caught stinging in my eye
drawing my mind to expulsion, birth-
More complete silence in total fog, mired in imagined shadows
thrown up to carve a respite from this splintering abandon
and so tense with observation-
It is a better world than the one we will wake up into.