Transpiring from the eye
At the core of my body
The branch extends through the left.
In it sprouts a fire flower
Possessed with masks yellow and red.
Masks that are pretences
To my half-met longings, countless.
The fire flower bulges out at a sickened pace,
In the song down pouring from my body–ache.
Which from ringing in the fifth note, traverses
lower, into the humming of a forlorn river.
My slumber drifts in remote dreams
that are alien even to my unconscious realms
My awakening keeps in its hand
The fire flower in shades of burning red
Sciatica tosses me upon a cliff
Where I sit with my self
The inner face confronts the outer one.
Yet, the wedding remains to happen