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.




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