Sciatica

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