I carry a fault which grows wider to a crack.
In it I put glycerine in the hope, in softening,
it will heal.
It won’t, but psalms show it forgives for wont of better
purpose, other than to show what we are,
a deft patter-nous web that opens and closes across the
weal of time.
As it passes so the wound, it closes, to pustulate
and pulse with cored aniseed to show
breath in cold night air.
It will break, smoothness to touch only
gluing the root causes to to
festivalled answered tomen.
Love and bond to separate out the fissures,
heart-out for the right weir to break
and show water’s focus of flowing
teen origins. Open door, closed
minded flight of evil-ed renderer
of bone muck to adhere
to the double-sided coin.