Ties.

We were olive stains on the lunar wounds
caught in our fathers coffin box
he offered us aged brandy warmed by fire soil.
Our skin was all coffee grinds
and pink champagne
with eyes like black stones
the world was onyx hued
and smelled of tangerine slut
the trumpet wails melted like
liquescent pill hammers
drumming us into a copper sleep
we dozed off  sucking at
greasy-coined air.

I could hear the white light

of dawn decomposing

In the Saturn horizon

all to the wail of sonorous Bach

played sheepishly through tight sewer pipes.

As we drank cold whiskey

covered by our mothers cassock

soberly I strutted from my

overture and wailed quietly

the auto da fe of prominent just desserts

woke the slags and pimpettes who were

alive only because they

had no time to die.

They chewed their lips at solid questions

mumbling "beg to differs" between each nervous blink.

Until apathetic underlings divulged

that perhaps the moon was down

raping gravity in a sluttish moan

like virgin nuns on coke.

It was then my father came back...

almost ghosting his feet past the threshold

paco is having trouble believing

in unflawed homes. 

I shall see the sky tomorrow

and although it may be barren of promise

these moist flies dwelling

on velvet cheek cliff

will fly before we wake.

It was then our china white

night closed it's opening lips

on our skulls murmuring

Je suis un terre.

the casement surrounding our bodies

furrowed at this thought

burying it's head into our breasts

As all dwindled into black catafalques

ebbing into endless niveous

sleep.