Untitled II

Cold as ice your heart chips

And slides from your eye sockets

As the melt oozes from your hair.

Maybe you'll crack and

Bend out of your soul

And fit into something

Of beauty and script.

Maybe you'll burrow

Your smell into the arms of humanity

And replace the stench of rot.

Maybe there are signs of deception

You're only as blind as you miss

Hanging from cold hands with no rhythm.

No route of taking your time and looking

Maybe you'll find the sounds of life

Hidden in your soft flesh

Or within the kind and gentle

Pulsations of their voices

Hollow and sharp

And you're mind will split in ecstacy.